One Shots
by MagicInHerMadness
Summary: Olitz one shots collection
1. A Sick Day

**So I decided to move all my one shots to one place because it's easier to manage. I'll probably be posting a lot of these because my imagination is running wild these days. I'm open to requests and I really want you guys to be completely honest in the reviews. XOXO**

* * *

Fitz walked into the Oval and frowned immediately. Olivia was missing, but there was a redheaded woman standing next to a bored-looking Cyrus. He asked, "Where's Olivia?"

"She's not feeling well. I'm Abby," the redhead replied. Cyrus glanced at her. She was no Olivia, but she seemed sharp and capable. He hoped Olivia kept sending her so Fitz would actually pay attention in meetings.

"Not feeling well? What's wrong with her?" Fitz asked, no longer concerned about the meeting.

"I'm not really sure. She said she wouldn't be available today and got me up to speed on everything so I could fill in for her," Abby answered, trying not to smirk. "Now, she sent me a list of possible you could focus on for your State of the Union address. She said going green would be fine if you were a democrat, or if everyone wasn't so concerned with immigration, but you aren't and they are, so you can't."

Fitz barely heard her. He was too focused on Olivia. He wondered where she was, if something was wrong, or if she was with someone else. Cyrus started talking but he didn't hear him either. Fitz stood, his phone out, and dialed her number, stopping Abby and Cyrus mid-conversation. The phone rang three times before she answered.

"Hello," she said, her voice muffled. He wondered what was wrong.

"Where are you?" he asked, frowning.

"Why are you calling? You're supposed to be picking a speech topic, a _strong_ speech topic," she replied. She held the phone away from her mouth while she coughed, hoping he wouldn't hear. It was only a touch of the flu, but she didn't want him to worry.

He heard and frowned. "Are you sick?"

"No," she deadpanned. "I just really like coughing."

"You never get sick." He had never even heard her sneeze. He moved to a corner away from everyone. "Are you okay, Liv?"

"I'm fine. Plan your speech." He imagined her sitting around with a stuffy nose, still trying to wear her fixer cape.

"I have people for that. I'm more concerned with you," he replied. Dropping his voice to a low murmur, he asked, "Do you want me to come over?"

"No." She coughed again, the sound muffled by a tissue. "I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"Work on your speech." She was so stubborn. The line went dead. He smirked as he put his phone back in his pocket. He walked back to the table and picked up Abby's list of speech topics. He didn't want to address any of them.

He sighed and put the list down. "Let's go with immigration. Something about simplifying the process and not penalizing illegal immigrants."

"Too liberal," Cyrus replied.

Abby smirked at the old man. She hated Republicans. She disputed, "It's a good idea. People are tired of the xenophobic Republican image. A new stance would be refreshing."

"Good. Get Claire on it," Fitz instructed. He buttoned his blazer. "I'm going to step out for a bit. No calls unless the sky is falling."

He turned to leave, Cyrus scrambling after him. Abby smirked as she left to find Claire. When he finally caught up to Fitz, Cyrus huffed, "You can't just leave, sir."

"Oh but I can," he replied coolly as Tom fell in step with them. Fitz turned his attention to his most trusted agent. "Freebird, Tom."

Tom nodded and walked away. "Freebird" was the code he and the President had established for when he needed to leave quickly and quietly. The official story was always that the President had taken leave to go to Camp David and couldn't be disturbed. Tom went to the residence and packed the president's overnight bag.

"Mr. President, you _cannot_ just take off like this," Cyrus implored, his face reddening. He knew exactly where Fitz was headed.

Fitz stopped at the corridor leading to the residency. "Cy, you're always going on and on about how I need to own my position. Well, last time I checked, I was the leader of the free world. I think that means _I'm_ in charge around here. And, being in charge, I'm asserting my right to leave whenever I feel like it."

He didn't stay to hear Cyrus' reply, instead heading to the residence. Tom was waiting near the tunnel entrance that led to a rarely used back exit. Within minutes, they were on the road headed for Olivia's apartment in Tom's black BMW. It took them about 20 minutes to get to Olivia's apartment.

"One more thing Tom?" Fitz requested as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Anything, sir," the agent replied.

"Can you go get some chicken soup for Ms. Pope? And orange juice," Fitz said. "And maybe some Gettysburger for me. Get yourself something too."

"Is that all, sir?"

"Oh, and some cold medicine; DayQuil, NyQuil, whatever." Fitz retrieved his overnight bag from the backseat. He walked to Olivia's front door and rang the doorbell. He smiled at her when she opened it, a blanket draped over her pajamas.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, frowning at him. He smiled at her slightly red nose. She looked so fragile without her makeup and power suit. He waited until she stepped back to let him inside before he answered.

"You're sick. I'm here to take care of you," he replied as he slipped off his blazer and hung it on the hook next to her front door.

"I don't need you to take care of me. I'm fine." She coughed into a tissue.

Fitz smirked. "You're _clearly_ the picture of health."

"I'm fine," she insisted before turning to head back to the couch where she was answering work e-mails. He followed closely, still smirking. She was so stubborn. She smiled because she knew he couldn't see her face. He wordlessly closed her laptop then placed it on the far corner of her coffee table out of her reach. After a particularly harsh cough, she scoffed, "Excuse me, _some_ of us are actually planning to _work_ today."

"You're sick. You don't need to work," he replied as he kicked off his shoes then sat next to her on the couch. He took the remote off the table and changed the channel from the news. He flipped until he got to cartoons and looked at her. She was typing on her phone. He smirked as he took it from her, placing it on top of her laptop. She huffed like a spoiled child. He pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her blanket-shrouded form. He pressed his lips to her forehead to check her temperature. She was a little warm but not hot. She coughed into her tissue then dropped it in the little garbage can next to the coffee table.

"Have you taken anything for that cough?" he asked when she plucked another tissue from the box to cough into.

She shook her head. "It's not that bad."

"It sounds like you're hacking up a lung, Livvie."

"You wouldn't know how it sounds if you were at the White House working on your speech like you're supposed to be."

He chuckled. "You know, you're the one always telling me I have some of the best speech writers in the country at my disposal. I'm using them like I'm supposed to."

There was a knock at the door that Fitz insisted on answering despite Olivia's protests. Tom stood on the other side, laden with bags. He silently followed Fitz into the living room.

"Your soup ma'am." He handed Olivia a white paper bag holding a styrofoam cup of chicken soup. He handed Fitz a Gettysburger bag. "Double bacon cheeseburger and large fries for you sir." He began emptying the drugstore bags. "I got NyQuil, DayQuil, Vick's vapor rub, Kleenex, Hall's lozenges in cherry and orange, nasal spray, orange juice, and these Milano cookies I like when I'm sick."

Olivia laughed. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

Tom gave a silly smile. Olivia had never seen him smile that way. He replied, "Mr. Beene thinks you'd run away."

They all laughed. Tome took his post on Olivia's doorstep, retrieving his folding lawn chair and his own bacon cheeseburger from the car. Inside, Fitz was neglecting his own food as he warmed Olivia's soup in a pot that looked as if it had never been used. Fitz was sure it hadn't. Olivia smirked at him in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

"You know, I've got one of those crazy new _microwave_ things that are a lot faster," he teased as he stirred the soup.

"You are gonna sass your way into a spanking before the day is over, little woman," he shot back before tasting the simmering soup. Olivia coughed into her tissue. "Go get the DayQuil."

"I don't want any," she half-whined as she went to get the day-glow orange bottle. He sat her on the island, smirking at her frown as he poured the syrupy medicine into the dosage cup. He smiled at her disgusted frown after she gulped it down.

"You're gonna get sick," she pointed out when he pressed his lips to hers, holding her small body against him after lifting her off the island. She would never admit it but she was loving his attention, deeply touched by the fact that he would blow off all his work to come nurse her back to health.

He smiled, their noses touching. "Good. Then you can take care of me."

"Yeah, that'll happen." He kissed her again before setting her on her feet and going to get her soup and a cup for her orange juice. He joined her on the couch and she frowned.

"I don't want soup," she declared when he handed her the bowl.

"Well you're gonna eat it." He took the bowl and held the spoon to her mouth. She stared at it for a few minutes before reluctantly opening her mouth. Fitz made sure she ate every bit of the soup, enjoying spoon-feeding her. When the soup was gone, he put the bowl and spoon in the sink then went back to sit with her on the couch. They cuddled and watched _Breakfast at Tiffany's_.

"You know they don't end up together in the book," she said as the end credits rolled.

"I've never read it," he replied. "What happens?"

"She runs off to Africa or somewhere, and he sees her picture in the paper. She never knew how much he loved her." She yawned then began coughing. The DayQuil was wearing off. He reached for the bottle and she protested, "I'm not taking any more of that."

"Fine." He picked up the jar of Vick's vapor rub instead. "At least put this on your chest."

"I hate the smell of that stuff," she complained. It appeared being sick turned her into a four-year-old.

"That's too bad, isn't it?" He unbuttoned her silk pajama top and rubbed the strong-scented goo on her bare chest. She gasped at the cool sensation and it occurred to him just how sexy something as mundane as applying vapor rub could be. The scent hit his nose again and he decided it wasn't the act of rubbing something on her chest that turned him on, but the sensation of touching her warm skin. Things had been so hectic and he hadn't had any time to do more than taste her beautiful lips for a few stolen moments. He drew it out, his rand moving sensuously slow. Olivia's eyes closed and she leaned her head back on the couch. The sensation was both relaxing but exhilarating all at once. She didn't protest when he kept going, making her eye lids heavy. By the time he was finished, she was half asleep. He washed the remnants of the rub off his hands then went looking for a book in her bedroom. He was surprised to find a well-worn copy of _A Farewell to Arms_ on her nightstand. She was blinking sleepily as she looked around the living room when he came back.

"Where'd you go?" she asked as he rejoined her on the couch.

"Miss me?" he asked in reply, smiling at her as she snuggled against him.

She smirked. "Well you're supposed to be taking care of me. You can't just leave me unattended."

He couldn't resist kissing her. He didn't care if he got sick. The taste of her lips was worth it. She nuzzled his neck, breathed in his soapy scent. He tucked the blanket around her and opened the book. She fell into his voice as he read. He was halfway through the second chapter when she began to snore softly. He kissed the crown of her head, whispered, "I love you."

He was surprised when she murmured back, "I love you too."


	2. A Wicked Game

**A/N: So this is a little drabble that occurred to me. I'm having some serious writer's block working on "Will You Ever Know" so I'm hoping all the one shots I have lying around will tide y'all over until it passes. Anyway, this is just a little smut to entertain y'all. Let me know what you think! XOXO**

_Someone save me…_

He knocks on the door casually. Beads of sweat immediately forms on my forehead. The wispy hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Goose bumps rise on my arms. A chilling tingle creeps up my spine. He knocks again. My mouth goes dry. My hands ache to open the door. My mind knows better than to cave to my primal urges, knows what will happen if I do. Butterflies flurry in a frenzy in the pit of my stomach. I have to leave, to hide somewhere—anywhere—before he realizes I'm not going to open the door.

I can't do it again, not after the way he left me last time. I was a quivering mess on the floor, branded like cattle, so ashamed of the things he had done to me and the fact that I had enjoyed every minute. I hid in turtlenecks for days, waiting for the bite marks and their subsequent bruises to become flesh-colored again.

I swallow, take a few impossibly quiet steps away from the door. He knocks again. I glance at the staircase to my left. If he catches me, it's over. His knock is deliberately louder and slower. It just can't happen again. I have to have more self-control than that.

_Someone please help me…_

He's just too much, too strong, too molten. I tiptoe up the stairs. My heart leaps into my throat when he knocks again and I take the rest of the stairs two at a time, frantically looking over my shoulder with every step. Maybe he knocks again, or maybe I'm just hearing my own heart bang against my ribcage. I flit down the upstairs hallway, press my forehead to the cool glass of the window facing the narrow street behind the house. I've been pressed against this window before, but in a manner very unlike the current one. I listen heard but don't hear anything. That's either very good or very bad.

_Someone has got to stop him…_

He is a whirlpool ready to drag me in. He is a raging inferno intent on engulfing me in flames. He will consume me completely if I'm not careful. Worse, I'll like it. I hear his heavy, even footsteps in the downstairs hallway and my heart stops. He calls my name—Olivia, not Liv or Livvie like he usually does—ever so calmly.

I run into the library because it is the first open door I come to, and close the door ever so quietly. I lean against the cool mahogany door, a manic smile of anticipation flashing over my face. I will pay dearly for my little game, and undoubtedly enjoy it thoroughly. I often wonder if it is him who is crazy, or me. I press myself flat against the door, listening intently for any sign of him.

He's walking around, no longer calling my name, probably no longer amused by my game. I listen as he opens doors and walks around rooms, looking for me everywhere. I wonder if he actually doesn't know where I am—if I actually managed to elude him—or if he's just humoring me. I doubt I've outfoxed him, especially as I am trapped on the second floor with no means of escape. He knows my every thought, hears my every breath and heartbeat, detects every bead of sweat forming in the small of my back. He's climbing the stairs now. I make myself silent and small, looking around the library for an out.

_Please help me._

He calls my name, his tone neutral and nonthreatening but somehow terrifyingly exciting. I inch toward the closet's cracked door but hesitate before doing inside. The floorboards will creak, or the hinges will groan. The room would betray me. He calls my name again. I bite my bottom lip. Do I dare answer? Do I dare not?

I slips into the closet, peering into the adjoining room for any sign of him. I hold my breath, listen hard. His footsteps seem far away, perhaps on the other side of the hall. I creep into the room. A door opens then shuts. My stomach flutters. It won't be long. He's running out of rooms and I'm running out of time.

_Someone stop him._

I smell him. Is he that close—behind me?—or am I just going crazy? His footsteps become deafeningly loud as he paces the hallway, deciding which room to try next. I creep to the door, holding my breath. I can definitely smell him now. He's on the other side of the door, listening for my heartbeat. I curse the excitement that courses through me as I tremble in the hovel between the door and the dresser.

_Please…_

He opens the door and steps inside, unwittingly hiding me from him. I hold my breath as he steps further into the room. I wonder if he can smell me too. Madness seizes me and I sash form the room. He shouts my name. I am just fast enough to escape his grasp. But he is faster and within seconds, I am in his grasp.

_Oh God…_

No…No...Yes…No…Don't…Stop…Don't stop… Let go of my waist, get your lips away from me. Stop making my insides turn to jelly. He grins against my mouth, knowing he's won. I wind my fingers in his curls, staring into those oceanic ice blue eyes. I'm going to pay for my silliness, he says, his breath warm on my neck. I am Livvie again, his sweet baby, hoisted in his sinewy arms. Don't bite me, I plead silently, a shudder running through me. He always takes away my words. Everything is him, his wants, his needs, his thoughts, his hands and lips coaxing all the strength from my body.

_No…_

Don't bite me. Take your cursed, hot tongue away. I wince at the contact of teeth and clavicle and his grip on my waist loosens, slackens just enough. I dart across the room and out the door. I run to my bedroom across the hall, slam the door, and lean against it as my heart thunders in my ears. I hold all my weight against it but it's no use.

_Yes…_

I am weightless, lifted and dropped. My sheets smell like lavender, but soon they will reek of sex and his cologne. I sleep shamefully in them for days after he leaves. He hovers over me, smiling. I wonder how I will pay for my "silliness." My pants are the first to go, then my top. My bra is flung across the room, my damp panties stuffed in his pocket. I curse my back for arching when his tongue makes contact with nub of nerves between my legs, curse my hands for grabbing fistfuls of his hair. He licks slow, driving me up the wall. I claw at the sheets, an embarrassingly vulgar string of curses leaving my lips when he nips me with his teeth. My moans echo off the walls, rivers flowing abundantly in appreciation of his blessed, god awful mouth. He chuckles when I splinter into a million pieces, my face contorting as the world comes undone.

_Help…_

His lips course their way back to mine, searing everywhere they touch on the way back up. I hate myself for loving the taste of me on his lips, for worshipping his sinful tongue. He seems to undress in seconds. I am forever in awe of his muscular frame and the strength contained in it. I wonder again how I will pay for my silliness. His mouth on my neck makes me light-headed as my eyes roll back. My breath catches as he fills me. There is no more running, no escape.

…

There is no fight left. My legs hook over his shoulders as hard meets soft… Shovels into earth… Sharps meeting flats… Waves crashing into jagged rocks… Moans… Screams… Electricity shooting from toe tips to the top of the head. Then he does the unthinkable. He stops, smiles at me like the devil come to collect his due. I beg before I'm even told to, promising only God knows what. I find the magic combination of words and he finally pushes me off the cliff. I fall into glorious oblivion. My face freezes in a silent scream as I levitate in an arc like I'm possessed. I babble his name like I need saving because I do. But he can't save me from himself. He bites my shoulder as he reaches his peak, groaning my name against my hot skin. Tremors of aftershock wash over me. I relish the strength of his embrace as I fall asleep.

_Someone has to stop him…because I don't want to. _


	3. Blind

**A/N: This randomly occurred to me today while I was looking at Olitz clips from back before Shonda was feeling herself and decided we had to stomach whatever BS she put out. It's just a little drabble, but I think it's really sweet. Let me know what you guys think please. XOXO**

He wondered if he was still in a coma—or dead—as he blinked at the fuzzy pitch blackness. He sat up as best he could, blinking rapidly. He knew he was awake and very much alive but he couldn't see anything. He waved his hands in front of his face but nothing changed.

"I can't see!" he exclaimed, startling Mellie awake. She looked at him waving his hands before his eyes repeatedly. She felt a pang of pity as she stood to get the doctor. The pity disappeared, quickly replacing it with rage when, in a panicked almost childlike voice, he called, "Olivia! Where's Olivia? I can't see! Where's Olivia?"

"She's not here. Stop shouting," Mellie replied, her voice icy, smirking as he looked around wildly trying to locate her. The doctor came in and she walked over to him, putting on the wife routine. She took hold of his hands and placed them in his lap. "You're fine. The doctor is here. Calm down."

He frowned, still looking around in a panic. Olivia had to be there. She wouldn't have known about him being losing his sight and not been there with him. "Why can't I see? Where's—"

Mellie cut him off. "You're fine. The blindness is just temporary. Listen to the doctor."

"You hit your head very hard on the concrete when you were shot. The trauma of the contact and the bullet made your brain swell and it put a little stress on your optic nerves. The pressure is going down and you will regain your sight within the week," the doctor explained. Fitz looked around, trying desperately to place his voice. He heard footsteps then the door shut.

"Where's Olivia?" he asked, his voice less panicked. He knew he would regain his sight but that didn't make him much better at the moment. He still needed Olivia to make him calm. If she was calm, he could be calm. "Get Olivia! Get Olivia!"

Mellie frowned, her eyes inflamed with rage. He had taken a bullet to the brain, and even that hadn't straightened out his thinking. She had always assumed Olivia was temporary comfort, an ego boost, and that at some point he would get his head together and leave her alone. But he had been in a coma for three weeks and she was the first person he'd asked for. Mellie picked up her purse, wordlessly leaving the room. She frowned at Tom, the agent she knew to be Fitz's number one accomplice in his not-so-secret rendezvous, and spat, "He's asking for her."

Tom entered the room and was immediately struck with sadness at how pitiful Fitz looked. He was blinking as he looked around the room helplessly, his face broken at his current predicament. "Sir, it's me, Tom. Do you want me to go get Ms. Pope?"

"No," Fitz replied, still looking around, now trying to find Tom's voice. Tom quickly moved to the side of the bed and placed his hand on his shoulder. Fitz reached up and clutched it desperately. "Call her. I need to talk to her."

Tom dialed Olivia's number then placed the phone in Fitz's hand. He put it to his ear and listened to the ringing. She picked up on the third ring.

"Hello," she said and relief immediately flooded him at the sound of her voice.

"Hi," he replied. Tom left the room, grateful that Fitz was himself again. It was his job to protect the president, but Tom had grown to like Fitz. He was a nice man, with a surprisingly big heart. And there could be a lot said about Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III as a politician and as a man, but Tom knew that there was one person for whom he gave his best continually and that was Olivia Pope.

A few miles away from the hospital, Olivia was experiencing what she was sure was a small heart attack. After three weeks of waiting and watching and praying more than she ever had in her whole life, there he was on the phone, saying "hi" like nothing had changed. "Hi. How are you?"

The chest-tightening fear returned. "I can't see, Liv. Will you come? I'm scared."

She had never heard him admit to being scared. She was already on her feet, putting on her coat, not stopping to explain anything to Abby and Harrison who were watching her with curious eyes. She seemed to move at light speed, running to the elevator. "I'm coming. I promise."

"Okay," he said before hanging up. He had never felt so helpless, but knowing that Olivia was coming made him feel better. It was bittersweet, really. If his sight didn't come back like the doctors were predicting, he could step down from the presidency amid a glorious outpouring of support, and divorce Mellie, and finally marry his Livvie. Vermont could be theirs. A man who wasn't president had those options. But he would never again see her beautiful face, or the faces of their children, or his own children. He blinked away hot tears, hoping she got there soon.

Olivia pushed her Audi to its limit as she sped down back roads to the hospital. She arrived and quickly parked, running through the parking deck in her gray suede Kate Spade pumps. She made it to the otherwise vacant twelfth floor where his room was seemingly without taking a breath. She rushed to his door, exchanging a look with Tom as another agent scanned her with a metal detector. When he finished—after arguably the longest minute of her life—she rushed into the room. He looked up from his lap at the sound of the door opening, his eyes wide and clear but seeing nothing.

"Liv?" he asked in a broken voice, looking around helplessly. Her heart split in two as she hurried across the room to him, tears clouding her own vision.

"I'm here. I'm here," she soothed, holding onto him tightly and not caring who saw them.

"I can't see," he said softly. She looked down at him and felt a fresh wave of tears fill her eyes as she watched little rivers drop off his delicate bottom eyelashes.

"You're fine," she promised. She didn't know that he was. She hadn't talked to the doctors, and Mellie had barred her from seeing him two weeks earlier. She wasn't sure that she wasn't lying to him about his lost sight. "Shh. You're fine. I'm here."

He wiped his eyes, knowing what he needed that moment was his strong Livvie. "Go talk to the doctor. And tell me the truth, no matter what he says."

The doctor had told him that his sight would return, but he didn't know if the man was lying to spare his feelings and had told Mellie the truth. He hadn't been able to look into the doctor's eyes the way he had learned to from Olivia, to watch his pupils for dilation.

"Okay," she said, planting a small on his temple. He looked up at her, and frowned because he couldn't see her eyes. What if he never got to see those gorgeous eyes again? She kissed his lips, knowing he was afraid. She couldn't even conceive of the possibility of him not getting his sight back. It would destroy him to never see her again, or his children, or their wedding day, or the four children he'd always said he wanted with her in Vermont. She couldn't bear the thought of something hurting him. She had been sure she would die of a broken heart when he was shot, when they didn't know if he would pull through, and the weeks that followed when he lay in that hospital bed with machines living for him, she knew she would spend the rest of her life sitting at his bedside waiting for those eyes to open. Now that he was awake and blind, she didn't know what would become of them. She would never leave him, but she wasn't sure what he would do, how he would cope. Kissing his hands as she stood, she walked on unsteady legs to the door. She told Tom, "I need to talk to the doctor."

Tom left quickly and returned in what seemed like seconds with the tall, wiry doctor. Olivia slipped into business mode immediately. She needed the truth. "Hi, I'm Olivia Pope. What can you tell me about the President's condition?"

"His vitals are fine. He's completely lucid," the doctor explained. He looked up at Olivia's serious face and instantly came to the most pressing matter. "His sight is gone temporarily. He hit his head very hard when he was shot. That, coupled with the trauma of the bullet puncturing his skull, put a considerable amount of pressure on his optic nerves because his brain is swollen. The swelling is going down steadily and his sight should return within the week."

"And if it doesn't?" She almost didn't want to know the answer. But she needed to know so she could tell him, even if it changed them forever.

"The chances of it not returning are negligible, single-digit percentage. But if it doesn't, we would have to operate. But the chances of that happening are so slim that we needn't even consider them," the doctor replied. Olivia was relieved. She thanked the doctor for his time then went back to Fitz. He was still sitting the same way she'd left him, staring blankly at his hands in his lap. He looked up at the sound of the door opening. She walked to the bed and he lay his head on her chest, pressing her into his pillows.

"The doctor said you'll have your sight back within the week," she assured. He breathed a sigh of relief. If Olivia said it, it was true. She never lied.

"And if…?" He couldn't finish the question, couldn't vocalize the alternative.

"They operate. But the chances of that happening are slim, single-digit percentage," she answered, her fingers in his curls. He listened to her heartbeat. It was slow and constant. She was telling the truth. He sat up and touched her cheeks, ran his fingertips over her lips then the bridge of her nose then her eyelashes. He held her face in his hands, loving her warm skin. His fingers slid through her hair then down her neck, trailing her collarbone. He held her shoulders firmly, almost desperately, like she was the only thing rooting him to the earth.

"I'm scared," he half-whispered.

"I know," she replied. She had never held him so tightly. "But I'm here. And I won't leave."

"Promise?" He sounded like a child afraid of the dark.

"I promise," she assured. Mellie would have to pry her away. His hands found her sides, pushing her black sweater up and touching her warm skin. He had missed touching her more than he ever thought he could miss anything. He shifted so that he was partially on top of her. His lips found hers urgently. He needed her more than he needed to see. His hands were sure and steady, his lips pleadingly needy. She didn't think it was a good idea but she couldn't deny him anything at that moment. All she said as he felt around her lap for the zipper on her dark gray pants was, "We have to be quiet."

"Mmhmm," he replied, not able to form words as he kissed her like he was trying to steal every breath she'd ever taken. His tongue wrapped around hers and she lost track of everything except his fingers crawling up her midsection. He squeezed her breasts firmly, loving the feeling of her body. She undressed so he didn't have to try to do it for him, slipping out of her clothes quickly because she found her need for him growing urgently as he kissed her. She untied his gown then the one beneath it used to spare him the indignity of having his backside out. He was a little thinner from his lack of solid food but he was still solid and warm and alive against her.

"Can you…?" She wasn't sure that he was strong enough to do much, especially as his breathing was jagged and shallow.

"Yes," he answered almost immediately. He didn't know that he could. He had needed help getting to the bathroom while he'd waited for her and it wasn't just because he couldn't see. His legs had felt like they weren't his anymore.

"I don't think you should," she said gently, her hands on his waist. He knew he was significantly weaker when she rolled his onto his back with little effort. Normally she could barely move him with his consent, and couldn't at all without it. She squatted over his erection, something he had no problem achieving and maintaining despite his weakened state, and gingerly lowered herself onto it, not wanting to place all her weight on him. Her eyes snapped shut and her mouth formed an "O" at the contact. He did the same, wishing he could see her beautiful face as he slid inside her. He loved the sight of her as they made love, the way her face contorted, the way she froze in a silent scream when she reached her peak. But the feeling of her wet, velvety warmth overtook him and he forgot everything as she moved gently, burying him deeper inside each time she lowered her magical hips. She moved slowly, wanting to experience every sensation. She also wasn't sure what all he could take and she didn't want to overwhelm him. She leaned over, placing her hands above his shoulders, slightly quickening her pace. He moaned quietly, his hands finding her hips. He matched her rhythm, eliciting beautiful gentle mewls from her as he connected with her spot.

"Oh God," she groaned, feeling the tornado begin to swirl in her stomach.

""Liv," he breathed, his fingertips creating small constellations of bruises on her hips. The hospital bed groaned in rhythm with their movements. He held her hips, quickening their pace as he rocketed toward oblivion. The swirling in Olivia's stomach had reached a fever pitch. It wouldn't be long. Her moans became high-pitched inhales as she felt the pressure building. He slowed until they were barely moving, ingraining the feeling of her creamy depths in his memory forever. He pictured her face the way it always looked His right hand slipped from her hip and the contact of the pad of his middle finger instantly threw her over the edge. She wasn't sure how loud her moan was as she splintered into a million pieces. It wasn't long before he let out a throaty strangled groan and she felt the warmth of his release coating her walls. She collapsed on top of him as they both tried to normalize their breathing. She kissed him repeatedly, memorizing the taste of his lips. He wrapped his arms around her, the thin hospital sheets sticking to their sweaty bodies.

"I love you," she murmured against his lips. He couldn't see her face but he imagined that her eyes were wide but serious.

"I love you too," he replied immediately. It was the first time she had said it first.

Three days later, the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was her asleep in the armchair she had made her home. She had meant it when she told him she wouldn't leave him. He blinked rapidly, making sure he was really seeing again and each time his eyes opened, she was still there, clear as day. Looking at her, his Livvie, beautifully asleep by his side, he made the decision that they wouldn't wait any longer. When he was out of the hospital, he would give her the world of dreams he'd built for them.


	4. Hospital Contemplations and Revalations

**A/N: This is my first FF and I'm really excited about it. I think it comes from a different and interesting POV. Be mindful that there is some creative license taken. Please read and review and enjoy of course (:**

Mellie froze at the sight of Olivia sitting at Fitz's bedside. The young woman held his limp hand in her much smaller one, her lips pressed to the palm, her eyes closed like she was praying. It looked like she had been crying, tear stains on her thin face. Mellie didn't see Olivia Pope as one for tears—she had actually never even seen Olivia on the verge of tears except for that fateful night, but then again everyone was on the verge of tears that night, even Cyrus—but apparently Fitz changed her. Olivia certainly changed him.

With her, he was deliriously happy. Everything that came out of her mouth was the best thing Fitz had ever heard. Every laugh from her pouty mouth made him giddy with pride. Olivia didn't laugh easily like Fitz; it was like winning a prize when someone got a laugh out of her. A smile from her turned him into a moony sixteen-year-old boy. One compliment and he was a hero, standing tall and proud, ready to take on the world. Those doe eyes made him putty in her little hands.

In all honesty, Olivia was perfect for him. She made him a better man. Mellie's brand of no-nonsense criticism made him angry; he snapped back like a petulant child. Olivia's made him work harder, turned him into the man America knew and loved and trusted. He worked his hardest to impress her; not that it took a lot for him to impress her. If her doe eyes were as honest and expressive as they seemed to be, Olivia was hopelessly in love with Fitz. She looked at him like he hung the moon and lit the stars for her every night. It honestly made Mellie laugh to think of how terrible they were at subtlety.

Mellie had suspected something on the campaign trail, mostly from the way Fitz lit up around her. He stood taller, smiled brighter, seemed more assured of himself but nervous at the same time. He told her the best jokes, the most interesting stories, gave his best effort in everything just to earn her small smile of approval. He would always reach out to touch her—her hair, the small of her back, her hand—then remember that they weren't alone and drop his hand, his eyes doing the touching his fingers weren't allowed. He always found a reason to talk to her, something he needed her opinion on, no matter how innocuous the subject. Mellie learned quickly that when she couldn't find Fitz, all she needed to do was find Olivia because he wasn't too far behind, trailing her like a puppy eager to be petted.

Olivia tried harder to maintain the image of propriety but she couldn't stop herself from looking at him longer than necessary when she thought no one was paying attention, or getting all moony when he made his speeches. Mellie recalled a campaign stop where Fitz mingled with the voters, holding a woman's baby and playing with it like it was his own. Mellie had never cared for children but she put on the right face. She looked around the room, making sure everyone was having the right reaction and that was when she saw Olivia, staring at him like her uterus had just skipped a beat. She looked back at Fitz just in time to see him look at Olivia with a face that said, "_This could be us one day_."

Mellie assumed it was just a crush until she watched Olivia change Fitz's tie out for one a little less flashy that belonged to an intern. There was so much adoration in her eyes that Mellie knew there was nothing she could ever do to change the way the two of them felt about the other. It was a few months before the election when she heard them together and her suspicions were confirmed. They were in Olivia's hotel room, making no other sound except heavy breathing. At first Mellie thought it might have been Olivia and someone else; but then she heard Fitz command, "_Take off your clothes_," in the gentlest voice. She wasn't hurt, not exactly. She and Fitz had long ago given up on being married like normal people. You needed love to do that. She was more annoyed at the carelessness than anything else. After all she had given up, all the nerve-grating time they had spent with each other, he owed her the White House. But there he was, jeopardizing it for a pair of big brown eyes and a heart-shaped butt. Now, so far removed from that incident, Mellie was mostly indifferent to it. She had never been to Fitz what Olivia was to him and that wasn't Olivia's fault.

Standing outside the hospital room, peering through the window at the two of them, Mellie truly felt bad for Olivia. If Fitz didn't pull through, Mellie would be devastated true enough. But Olivia… Mellie wouldn't be surprised if she died of a broken heart like an animal who had mated for life.

She gingerly opened the door and stepped into the room. Olivia jumped, releasing Fitz's hand immediately. Mellie tried to look friendly but wasn't sure what expression her face contorted into. "_Any change?_"

Olivia sniffed, glanced down at Fitz's pale hand. She half-whimpered, "_No._"

Mellie stayed near the door. She couldn't seem to make herself move closer. It felt like she was imposing on an intimate moment. She suddenly remembered why she had come. "_I was just coming by to shave him and change his pajamas…but you can do it._"

Mellie held out the blue NAVY overnight bag holding the shaving kit and pajamas. Olivia looked from the bag to Mellie's face and back again. She stammered, "_Mellie I can't…_"

"_I think he would want you to,_" Mellie insisted. Olivia gave a weak smile and Mellie knew how much it meant to the young woman to be able to care for Fitz. She sniffed like she might cry then straightened herself. "_I'll just leave you to it then._"

"_You don't have to go,_" Olivia said almost too quickly. Mellie nodded, unable to stop herself from looking surprised. She moved the chair in which Olivia had been sitting back to its original place and sat down. She took Olivia's newspaper from the arm of the chair and unfolded it. Olivia had highlighted a few stories in the Sports section: basketball, lacrosse, and hockey. They were Fitz's sports. Mellie realized Olivia must have been planning to read them to him. It was perhaps the sweetest thing Mellie had experienced in a long time.

Mellie put the paper down and watched as Olivia used the remote to raise the bed up. Fitz looked like he was asleep sitting up. She pushed Fitz's curls back from his face and Mellie made a mental note to have someone come in and cut his hair. Olivia disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a spare bedpan half-filled with water. She used a washcloth to gently wash his face then retrieved the shaving cream from the bag. She lathered the lower half of his face with a tenderness that was palpable. Mellie watched Olivia shave Fitz's face with the utmost care, her small hands moving gently and steadily.

When she was finished, she wiped the leftover lather off his face, then took the washcloth and bed pan to the bathroom. When she came back, she sat uncertainly on the bed. Mellie almost got up and hugged her. She had never seen the mighty Olivia Pope look so small and lost. Mellie quietly declared, as if she had just realized herself, "_You really love him._"

Olivia looked up in surprise. Her expression immediately crumpled into a remorseful one. "_Mellie, I… I never meant for this to happen. In the beginning, I fought it. I begged him to… I wanted him to be faithful to you. I insisted he leave me alone. But he didn't and I couldn't fight it…" _She dissolved into a puddle of tears, her little body shaking with sobs. She choked out,_ "I'm sorry I fell in love with your husband._"

Mellie again felt like getting up and hugging her. Instead she nodded though Olivia couldn't see her. "_You didn't… It wasn't… It's okay._"

Olivia nodded, wiping her eyes. Mellie stood up and walked to the bed. She ran a hand through Fitz's hair then hesitantly placed her hands on Olivia's shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. It was the first time Mellie had ever touched her without obligation, the first time she ever actually meant the affection she was offering Olivia. She let her go then headed for the door. She stopped, her hand on the knob, and looked back at Olivia. The young woman was untying the hospital gown a nurse had dressed Fitz in after bathing him. Mellie admitted, "_He loves you too, Olivia. He really does._"

Olivia looked up at her, her hands paused from removing the gown which had apparently been layered over another to give Fitz the dignity of not having his backside exposed, and nodded. Mellie nodded too, then left. She heard a sob wretch from Olivia's throat and sighed. As Mellie walked down the hall, her security trailing, she frowned and shook her head. In another lifetime, under different circumstances, she and Olivia might have actually been friends.


	5. Hi

Olivia sat on the couch, mindlessly changing channels. She looked down at her left hand, at the sparkling little promise glinting on her left ring finger. It had been six months since he'd asked her to wait, to promise she wouldn't fall in love with anyone else. She wore the ring on her right ring finger every day, and every night she would come home and put it on her left ring finger where it belonged. She looked at the clock on her cable box. 8:57. He always called at 9 on Wednesday nights. Rather, he used to. It had been a month, four Wednesday nights on which 9 o'clock had come and gone and her phone lay uncalled on her coffee table.

Even then, it lay on the table in front of her, and she frowned as the 7 became an 8, already knowing that her heart would shatter a little more in 2 minutes. She sipped her wine as she settled on _Hell's Kitchen_. 8:59. She felt her throat go dry as butterflies buzzed to life in her stomach. It had been a month and she still hoped, still said a little prayer each time her phone rang. 9:00. She hated herself for glancing at the phone, hated her heart for leaping. She took a long drink as the screen remained dark. She looked at the TV screen, tried to get into the show, ignoring the heavy feeling that settled in her chest and threatened to stop her lungs from inflating. She hated him for breaking her heart, and she hated herself for loving him with all the little pieces.

9:01. She ran a hand through her hair, starting flipping channels again. 9:02. She wasn't even seeing anything anymore, just staring at the glowing screen. 9:03. She gasped when the phone lit up, buzzing against the glass table. She picked it up and stared at it. Her finger hovered over the screen. She took a deep breath then clicked the ANSWER icon.

There was a moment of silence as they both held the phone. He sat in his office, his chair turned to face the window. Olivia put her wine glass down, and pulled her feet up onto the couch. Fitz began rocking the chair.

"Hi," he finally said. He tried to sound happy, to let her know how much it meant to him to do something as mundane as call her, but he didn't. He just sounded exhausted. Olivia inhaled, breathing in the sound of his voice. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him, or how much a word as tiny as "hi" could mean to her.

"Hi." It was a breath she felt like she'd been holding in forever. He breathed it in, his chest heavy with the weight of the world. Her voice was small and broken.

"Livvie, I'm sorry about not calling. There's been so much to do. Every day is an uphill battle with… It doesn't matter. I missed one night then another, then I figured you had to be pissed so I… Then the fourth one came around, and I hadn't called, and you hadn't called either, and I thought…" He stopped talking, leaving the end of his sentence dangling. She knew what he was thinking.

"There's no one else," she whispered. She could see him slumped in his chair, looking so dejected. She wished she was there, that she could hold him for a little while. They got quiet for a while. He listened to her breathe, missing her so much it hurt.

"I miss you," he murmured. His eyes closed when her breath hitched. Her small muffled sobs made his heart sink. He longed to hold her, to wipe the tears he knew were falling down her cheeks, to kiss her lips until her sobs stopped. He wanted to pull her head against his chest and ran his fingers through her hair. She took a deep breath.

After a moment, he said, "I played basketball with the Dali Llama today."

He was talking her off the ledge, talking to her the way you coaxed a toddler off the ice. You couldn't rush to them, couldn't frighten them, couldn't let them know you were terrified. The only way you could save their life was to act completely contrary to how you felt. She sniffed a few times, wiped away tears that sprung from nowhere.

"Yeah?" She twisted the diamond ring off her finger, looked at the inscription. _Something special for my something special._ She remembered the look in his eyes when he'd her that she was his something special, Eisenhower's flag pin gleaming on his lapel. He wore it every day just like she wore the ring.

"He came to tour the White House and when he saw the basketball court, he challenged me to a game. I didn't think he'd been any good since he's so small and like 100 but he's surprisingly athletic," he replied.

She laughed then yawned. She hadn't realized how much her fitful Fitz-less sleeping had affected her until she was filled with his voice. She pointed out, "You know, when you stay late to call me, you keep 22 hard-working Americans away from their families."

He laughed. It was such an Olivia observation. "Actually it's 23."

"Twenty-three people missing dinner and the nightly news so you can call someone you're not supposed to be talking to." He hoped her laugh never stopped making him fall in love with her.

"Well you're a hot-shot fixer and you spear-headed my election campaign so in theory I could be calling you for professional reasons," he replied.

"Business hours are 9 to 5, Mr. President," she pointed out.

"It's 9," he shot back. They laughed.

"So if this is a business call, you must need something," she replied.

"Well I needed to talk to the woman I love but I've accomplished that."

She smiled. "Anything else, sir?"

"What are you wearing?"

She laughed, leaning back on the couch. "You really wanna know?"

"Only if it's something sexy."

"It's pretty sexy." He had been joking, but now he was leaning forward in his seat, his saliva thick, wondering what lucky silk garment got to accompany her beautiful body to bed.

"Yeah?"

She laughed. "You know for someone who practically gives speeches for a living, you're awfully tongue-tied over there."

"Maybe a little." He chuckled. "Seriously, what are you wearing?"

"Pajamas, you perv," she replied with a silly grin. They laughed until they were both wiping away tears. They settled into a comfortable silence. She finally said, "I miss you too."

"Goodnight, Olivia," he said, wanting to say so much more. No, he wanted to go to her, to come home to her the way the 23 people waiting for him to retire to the residence got to go home to their loved ones every night no matter how late they might be. But he got to talk to her, and for that Wednesday night, that was enough.

"Goodnight Mr. President." He smiled. He loved when she called him that. They hung up and Olivia went to bed, pulling off her pajamas and slipping on the Navy sweatshirt he had left behind. Miles away, Fitz was sitting in the Oval, staring at the one picture he had of them from a state dinner, promising her smiling face that someday he would come home to her and never leave.


	6. A Meeting of the Minds

**A/N: So this is an anonymously requested one shot of Fitz and Olivia as a doctor and an intern. It's steamy but not smutty because I got this really cute chemistry going between them and I couldn't figure out how to work in the smut without making it too long. I think I might do a smutty follow-up though. Let me know what you think and submit your requests! XOXO**

Cyrus smirked at Fitz as he stormed down the hall. The administrator had been expecting his head diagnostician for half an hour, approximately the time it would take for Fitz to read through his new team member's personnel file. Cyrus smiled serenely when Fitz threw open his glass office doors.

Frowning, Fitz declared simply, "No."

"Good morning Dr. Grant," Cyrus replied, setting down his iPad. "What can I do for you?"

If he and Cyrus weren't such good friends, Fitz would have hated him. "A _woman_, Cy?"

"Well I was hoping to get a talking bear, but they're surprisingly hard to come by," Cyrus replied with a smirk. "Believe it or not, women are competent doctors too."

It wasn't that Fitz didn't believe women were competent doctors. He just didn't like working with them. They were too easily offended, and too hung up on patients' feelings. They felt too much, cared too much, couldn't let go. Honestly, Fitz would have enjoyed working alone more than anything, but Cyrus insisted he needed a team to keep him "grounded." Fitz argued that the least Cyrus could do was keep his team completely male, and he had complied for a few years. But now it seemed the administrator had come down with a case of equal opportunity employment and hired a woman.

"Undergrad at an all-girls' school in Georgia, sorority sister, former ballerina…" Fitz read with a smirk. "Is she a _debutante_, too?"

"She graduated top of her class from Johns Hopkins with a specialty in neurological disorders. She turned down heading her own team in New York to work with you. She's smart enough to match you toe to toe, and too headstrong to take your shit. I would say she's perfect, but she's a Yankees fan and that's a sin I can't abide," Cyrus replied.

"Probably hot for A. Rod," Fitz, a Red Sox fan, muttered. Cyrus wondered what the intern would think of Fitz's chauvinism. Most of the hospital's female employees chose to ignore it because Fitz was gorgeous, but the intern was a pistol and Cyrus was sure she'd wrack Fitz's balls for it. He looked at her file again. "She's 5'4 and 108 pounds. I suppose it's helpful that I can carry her around in my pocket."

"'Find though she be but little, she is fierce,'" Cyrus quoted. He couldn't wait to see Fitz and the intern mix it up.

"_Olivia Carolyn Pope_… Even her name is cute." Fitz shook his head. "Where is Strawberry Shortcake?"

"In your office," Cyrus answered as he stood. "Mind if I come along? It's so rare that one gets to witness the exact moment that shit hits the fan."

Fitz strode toward his office with more purpose than usual, prepared to send Scarlett O'Hara packing. He smirked at her petite frame as she stood with her back to him, taking note of her bouncy raven curls, shapely little frame, and black pumps. He opened his glass door and she turned around.

It was the first time he ever found himself at a complete loss for words. Had her eyes not been so wide and warm, and her lips not so succulent, and her skin not the perfect shade of brown, he would have dismissed her immediately. But she was everything and then some, absolutely breath-taking, fixing him with a confident yet congenial stare.

A single strand of pearls hung around her beautiful neck, drawing his eyes to the peak of cleavage showcased by the v-neck of her fitted smoke gray wrap dress. Fitz found himself wondering what it would be like to massage her thin shoulders at the end of the day, and carry her little body up to bed. He wondered if there was someone waiting for her at home, and found himself irrationally jealous. Five minutes prior, he had been ready to pick her apart so skillfully that she'd flee his office contemplating her very existence. Now, he was ready to take her home.

Olivia wondered what the intensity of his gaze meant. Cyrus had warned her about Dr. Grant's sharp tongue, but she didn't know what to make of his intense gaze. She had never considered herself one for being enchanted by a man's eyes—they were nothing more than a simple toss up of genes after all—but Dr. Grant's blue gray eyes made her stomach feel like it was full of manic butterflies. Deciding he wasn't going to say anything to her, she stepped toward him, her hand extended. "Dr. Grant, I'm Dr. Olivia Pope. It's an honor to meet you."

He blinked, struck by her radiant smile. She smelled like something fruity, something feminine. Realizing he was staring at her like a moron, he quickly took hold of her little, incredibly soft hand. "Nice to meet you."

Cyrus watched the two study each other, smiling smugly. He had expected fireworks but of a completely different sort. He had never known Fitz to be so polite to anyone, especially not one of his subordinates. He would definitely have some questions about this little exchange—especially the way Fitz was holding onto her hand though the handshake was clearly over—when he and Fitz were alone.

"I hear you're a Yankees fan. I'll try not to hold that against you," Fitz joked, smirking down at her. She was wearing heels that he guessed were about 5 inches high but she was still a head shorter than him. Olivia made a mental note to somehow develop an aversion to his sensuous voice. She would never get any work done if she didn't. He went on, "I'm a Red Sox fan."

Olivia scoffed, "I guess you're not as smart as I assumed."

"Like you can judge. You went to Johns Hopkins." She smirked at him. He wanted to kiss every bit of matte red lipstick off her pretty mouth.

"God you sound like every Harvard alum I've ever met." He laughed beautifully and Olivia made another mental note to never make him laugh again.

"And how's that?" he asked.

"Loud and so wrong," she answered. She laughed at making him laugh.

Cyrus smirked at them. "Perhaps you should go over the house rules, Fitz. Dr. Pope seems to like you and I'd like to change that."

Fitz smirked at Cyrus then looked uncertainly at Olivia. She wondered what it was about these "house" rules that made him look so uncomfortable. "You're the first woman I've worked with since my residency so I don't know how to phrase this. We don't wear skirts and high heels on this team. We're saving lives, not going out for cocktails."

Olivia blinked at him. World-renowned doctor or not—devastatingly handsome or not—she wasn't going to take his macho crap. Diagnostics was a male-dominated field and she had developed a fierce sense of feminism because of the daily sexism she faced. "Because you haven't worked with a woman in what I'm assuming is a very long time, I'm not going to castrate you for being a sexist ass. Instead, I'm going to direct you to look at my file. I was number _one_ in my class at Spelman, and Johns Hopskins. I've been published independently in the top-rated medical journal in the country independently twice. I have a 168 IQ. Granted, that's 2 points lower than you, it's still in the gifted range, meaning I'm _quite_ intelligent. I turned down heading my own team at Cedar Sanai to work with you. I'm not stating these facts to toot my own horn, mind you. I'm letting you know that I'm incredibly talented and capable of doing my job, and that my attire is hardly any of your concern. I'm here to work with the best diagnostician in the country, not to be condescended to by some narcissist with a God complex, or have my choice in work attire scrutinized or sexualized by some Neanderthal who equates masculinity with capability or correctness."

He would have fired anyone else for speaking to him that way. But anything that came out of that mouth, rolling off that deliciously pink tongue, was music to his ears. He found her feistiness refreshing. A small smile on his lips, he declared, "You're not afraid of me."

She took a defiant step forward, her eyes level with his despite their height distance. "I'm not afraid of anyone."

"Good."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, unless you have any questions."

"None."

Cyrus watched them stare each other down, wondering how long it would be before they were duking it out like gladiators. Fitz finally gave in and stepped out of her way. She was just stepping over the threshold when Fitz called out to her, "Dr. Pope, there's one more thing."

She turned around and set those eyes on him again, her congenial look back on her beautiful face. "Yes?"

"You're going to need to go down to the clinic and sign up for hours," he replied.

"Okay." She smiled beautifully, their eyes lingering on each other for a long moment, before turning to leave. He decided he would have to learn to ignore her perfectly toned ass. God he wanted to squeeze her round, incredibly soft-looking ass…maybe bend her over his desk…maybe put her over his knee and spank her… _God, she has to go_, Fitz thought as he watched her hips swing as she strutted to the elevator. Cyrus's laugh broke the spell cast by the clicking of her heels on the marble floor.

"Unbelievable," he commented, shaking his head. "An IQ of 170 slashed to 55 by a nice ass. She is a hot little number. If only I were a vagina enthusiast…"

Fitz smirked. "She's…something."

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you had a thing for her. I've never seen you be so civil to anyone on your team before."

Fitz shook his head as he went to sit behind his desk, grabbing the yoyo he used to keep his hands busy while he read potential patient files. "Maybe I was just being a decent person."

"Oh, bullshit," Cyrus replied, grinning triumphantly as he left Fitz's office.

* * *

Fitz found himself smiling at the sight of Olivia sitting by herself as she ate her salad, reading intently, half-rimmed glasses perched on her perfect little nose. He bought a turkey sandwich, a bag of chips, and a Coke, glancing at her every few seconds. He didn't want to like her—nothing good could come of liking her—but he found himself walking over to her table against her better judgment. He read the title of her book as he took a seat next to her: _Gone with the Wind_.

"Homesick?" he asked, smiling at her.

She looked up at him like she hadn't noticed him sit down. Honestly, she had been so engrossed in the book that she hadn't. "I read this book every couple of years to see if it changes as I change."

"And does it?" he asked, legitimately interested. Although, his interest was more geared towards the length of her thick dark eyelashes than the book.

"I suppose. When I read it the first time in high school, I thought Rhett Butler was absolutely awful for leaving Scarlett. But now I understand that he was just tired of giving." She smiled at him. "You know, you remind me of him."

"Do I?" Now he was really interested.

"You're both smart, and handsome, and charming, and delightfully chauvinistic," she answered with a challenging smile. He laughed. Cyrus was right. She was a pistol.

"So you think I'm handsome? And charming too? Nice." He smiled and she laughed, her head falling back. Fitz wanted to pepper her beautiful neck with kisses.

"You are shameless," she replied, smiling at him.

"And smart, and handsome, and charming." Olivia laughed again. She hadn't expected him to be as charming as he was, and she knew that that made him all the more dangerous for her. He wasn't the kind of man she needed. He was too macho, too "I'm the man," too sharp-tongued. They wouldn't do anything but butt heads, when they weren't pawing at each other like animals. He unleashed an animalistic lust in her that she hadn't known she possessed. She had never wanted to fuck anyone before, to just rip their clothes off and bang them like a screen door on a mobile home in a hurricane, but Dr. Grant did something to her. She smiled shyly, hoping she wasn't blushing from her less than professional thoughts of him, and stole a glance at him.

He was staring at her. He had never been so taken with a woman. "You have incredibly beautiful eyes."

Olivia blushed as she looked away from him. His intense gaze was setting off a tsunami in her stomach. She asked, "Why are you being so nice to me? Cyrus told me all these horror stories about you and I was fully prepared to go to war with you. But you're being a boy scout. Why is that?"

He didn't have words for it. She just made him feel different. He knew there would be times when they butted heads. They were both too Type A and outspoken for it to not happen at some point. But he wanted to spend forever learning what made her tick so he could know what it was about her that made him tick differently. He answered, "Maybe I'm just a crappy person when you aren't around."

Olivia blushed as she met his gaze. "I've only been here for a day, most of which we haven't spent together I'd like to point out."

"Maybe you should've shown up sooner." He smiled just so and Olivia thought she would faint. She hadn't expected to be so surprised by him, or so enchanted. She had come in expecting an ogre whom she'd have to tame, but instead found herself wondering if he liked to sleep in on Saturdays, and if he preferred pancakes to waffles, and if was an optimist or a pessimist. She wanted to count his eyelashes and trace the bridge of his nose while they lay in bed after a long day, and maybe spend a few hours running her fingers through those gorgeous coffee-colored curls.

He wasn't sure when he leaned close enough to breathe in the scent of her hair. It was incredibly sweet but he couldn't name it. She seemed unaware of him scooting just a bit closer to him, but she was actually acutely aware of his scent filling her nostrils. He smelled soapy and clean and so intoxicatingly manly that it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. He took a deep inhale, filling his lungs with her scent. It hit him immediately. Cupcakes. Her hair smelled like cupcakes.

Olivia reread the same sentence five times, never absorbing the information. She couldn't focus on anything with his heat creeping into her body. She made a mental note to never be so close to him again, not if her insides were going to turn to jelly that way.

She didn't know how it happened. Maybe she looked up at him too quickly, or maybe he was far too close. Maybe she didn't realize just how close he was, or maybe he didn't move away quick enough. Whatever the circumstances, when she turned to look at him, their lips touched instantly. She pulled away almost immediately and blushed so hard that she knew her whole face was beet red. Fitz stared at her with bedroom eyes that brought goose bumps to her skin. His hand found the back of her neck and she gave a little gasp when his lips met hers again.


	7. Southern Grace

**A/N: So this is a period piece requested by MyPenCries. It's set in the late 1890s and I tried to be as accurate as I could but I'll admit I'm not a huge history buff so it might not be exactly on the mark with that time period. But I had a lot of fun writing and researching this, so much so that I'm working on another piece set in WWII. Let's be honest though, Olitz works anywhere at any time in any place. Constructive—and I stress the word—criticism is welcome, as well as reviews are welcome! XOXO**

Fitz smiled good-naturedly at Eli Pope as they stood in Fitz's studio. Eli walked around, silently looking at Fitz's work. Fitz wondered what the man was thinking. He hoped Eli was impressed. The man had considerable means as the heir of one of New Orleans' oldest _Gens de Couleur Libres_ families, and Fitz needed a commission desperately. He sat on his stool, appraising the older man with interest. Eli's smoke gray suit was European, Italian Fitz would have guessed, and lined with fuchsia silk.

"Mr. Grant," Eli finally spoke, stopping his pacing to have a closer look at a portrait of a girl in a black unitard and pink silk ballet slippers, posing in the arabesque position. Eli had to admit the picture was good, the girl appeared lithe and vibrant, and the colors were perfect. "My Olivia is an exceptional girl. Jaunty finger-painting won't capture her glory."

_She's probably too big to fit on a canvas, _Fitz thought with a smirk. He was willing to wager good money that Mr. Pope's "exceptional" daughter was exceptionally ugly, or exceptionally fat, or exceptionally stupid. Girls of means were rarely given beauty and charm as well, Fitz had learned. Smiling at Eli, he replied, "Mr. Pope, I'm sure your Olivia is magnificent. As you can see from my many portraits, I'm quite qualified to capture her beauty."

"I should hope so." Eli was impressed that he didn't intimidate Fitz. "I'll be expecting you at Magnolia post-haste."

Eli left without a word and Fitz wondered what to make of the man. He knew he didn't like Eli Pope, and that his daughter was probably an ogre. But he needed the money so he decided to bury his disdain and paint the girl.

**XXXXX**

The next day, Fitz found himself trudging through the humid spring air, headed for Magnolia plantation. He took the cable car as far as he could then walked to the city limits where the plantations splintered off. After asking a young boy on a bicycle for directions, he set off east toward the clearing swamps. Lugging his easel and satchel brought a thin sheen of sweat to his forehead, slicking his unruly espresso dark curls back. The willows opened to beautifully manicured lawns sprawling before a pristinely white plantation house. All the house's bay windows were open and Fitz breathed in the beautiful scent of magnolias wafting around the property. The trees lined the sides of the house and the long walkway. Fitz squinted at the front porch and made out a plump old woman sweeping on the porch. As he neared, he heard her singing an old hymn as she swept pink magnolia petals off the porch. She didn't seem to see him as she finished her cleaning then disappeared into the house, the screen door slapping shut behind her. He was looking around for any sign of Eli when he spotted her.

She sat on a wooden swing hanging from the one out of place tree in the center of the yard, beautifully luminous in a white shirtwaist with a pleated skirt. She was reading intently, her little bare feet kicking lazily to keep the swing swaying. The sun seemed to love her cinnamon colored skin, hitting it in a way that made her almost ethereal. Fitz guessed that she was Eli's "exceptional" Olivia. Fitz could have thought of a million more words to describe Olivia—exceptional being the least of which. He walked over, unable to take his eyes off her.

"Hello," he said, making her look up from her book. She stopped swinging.

Olivia had never encountered anyone so handsome. She almost dropped her book when he smiled at her kindly. He had the most magnificent blue eyes, almost gray really, and gorgeous coffee colored curls. She wondered who he was, what he was doing at Magnolia. They didn't have many white visitors at the house, and they were never as handsome as this stranger.

"Hello," she replied, smiling politely.

"Hello," he said a second time, unable to think of anything else to say to her. It was quite unlike him. He could normally talk women into anything he wanted, never at a loss for words, but Olivia had rendered him almost speechless. His smile was so charming that Olivia blushed like he was flirting with her. He looked down at her book, wishing he could get close enough to breathe in her scent, imaging she smelled heavenly. Taking a step closer to peer down at the book in her little hands, he asked, "What are you reading?"

"_Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_," she answered. She was a little embarrassed as it was a child's book, but it was her favorite story of all time.

"I've never read it. Is it any good?" he asked in reply.

"It's my favorite story of all time." She wanted to sit and read to him in the garden, his head in her lap and her fingers buried in those luscious curls.

"Maybe I'll have a look at it some time." He wanted to read the book in front of a fire, with her curled in his lap, her head on his chest. She stood and held the book out to him, thinking that if he borrowed it, he'd have a reason to come back and visit her again. Fitz took the book, their hands brushing lightly, and put it in his bag.

"Do let me know what you think," she requested. He looked down at her. She was tiny, like a hummingbird or a sparrow. A breeze blew her scent into his nostrils. She smelled like soap and baby powder. The smiled at each other in silence for a short while before the old woman, Celestine, appeared on the porch again.

"Olivia go fetch your father," she called, breaking their spell. Any white man who came to visit was undoubtedly there for Eli and it was best for everyone that he stay away from Olivia lest Eli see them and blow a gasket. He was fiercely protective of his baby girl. Nothing and no one were good enough for her.

Olivia was reluctant to leave the handsome stranger. She told him, "You should come inside. It's awfully hot. And it smells like rain is coming."

"After you ma'am," Fitz replied, stepping out of her way so she could walk to the cobblestone walkway.

Olivia smiled at him as he fell in step with her. "What's your name?"

"Fitzgerald Thomas Grant the third," he answered, acutely aware of their arms brushing lightly as they walked toward the house. "What's your name?"

"Olivia Carolyn Pope," she answered. Fitz knew he would never forget that name, or that smile. She took quick little steps and ended up a little ahead of him. He couldn't help admiring her shapely little bottom making the pleats of her skirt sway. She had a maiden's disposition but a vixen's body, a surprisingly enchanting combination. To say she was a pleasant surprise was a gross understatement.

"Hello ma'am." Fitz smiled down at the old woman. She was taller than Olivia but he still towered over her.

"You must be the painter," she replied, her face stern. She had seen the way he looked at Olivia, like he was ready to put her on a plate and have her for supper.

"Yes ma'am," Fitz answered. He guessed that the old woman was Olivia's chaperone and that she would be quite a formidable obstacle standing between him and Olivia. Celestine sniffed then stepped aside so he could go inside. Fitz smirked as he went inside.

Eli was waiting in the grand drawing room, sitting in his favorite high-backed leather chair. He wore a blue shirt and gray pants, looking out the window as he sipped lemonade. He smiled at Olivia as she entered the room ahead of Fitz. "Hello darlin'!"

"Hi Daddy," she replied, going over to sit on the arm of his chair. Eli squeezed her knee. There were few people to whom he was genuinely kind and affectionate. Olivia was the first and most frequent of those few. He couldn't even bring himself to raise his voice to her. He was putty in her little hands.

Eli looked up at Fitz and his smile disappeared. He didn't dislike Fitz. He was generally contemptuous of artists. "Hello Mr. Grant. I see you've met my princess."

"Yes sir, and please call me Fitz." Fitz stole a glance at Olivia. She was looking at him curiously. He went on, "She's exquisite."

"Quite so," Eli replied. "Any idea how you'd like to paint her?"

"Well," Fitz wasn't sure how Eli would react to what he said next, "I'd like to follow her around for the day and see what sparks my creativity…if that's fine with you of course."

Eli was never one for arts and creativity. He actually had a general distaste for such frivolous things. But art was a part of culture, and Eli was nothing if not cultured. He wasn't keen on the idea of Fitz being around his little girl all day—he knew Fitz was something of a Casanova because many a female painting subject made goo goo eyes when his name was mentioned—but Celestine would be with them too and Eli was confident nothing would happen under her watchful eyes. He answered, "I suppose that wouldn't be too troubling." He looked at Olivia. "Is that alright with you, sweet pea?"

Olivia knew better than to seem too excited despite how giddy she was at the prospect of being around Fitz all day. _Fitz,_ she thought. _Now that's a name I'll never forget._ She answered, "That sounds alright, Daddy."

Eli nodded as he stood. "Well I'm going to town. Your mother's out in the garden if you need anything. Have Celestine save me some lunch please."

"Bye Daddy." Olivia chirped, smiling at her father as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. Eli nodded at Fitz, giving him a long, serious look before he left.

XXXXX

Fitz followed Olivia to the side of the house where the laundry was hung. She made small talk about how the washing hurt her hands and how she wished their mother would consent to hiring someone to do it. Fitz took the large laundry basket from her, thinking it too heavy for someone so tiny to carry. He sat on a little wooden stool and watched as she hung shirts, handing her garments and clothespins from the basket. He absentmindedly plucked a garment from the basket, transfixed by the way the sun poured through the pleats of the skirt, rendering it sheer enough to see her shapely little legs. He doubted Eli would consent to a portrait of his "princess" doing something as common as hanging laundry but she was so graceful as she did it that Fitz couldn't stop watching.

Olivia glanced over at him and he looked down so he didn't appear to be staring. He looked down at little cotton garment he was holding and almost fell off his stool. In his hands were a pair of white bloomers with lace on the bottom and a little pink rose on the front of the waistband. He dropped the underwear, looking up quickly at Olivia to make sure she hadn't seen him handling her delicates. She was busy hanging her stockings and didn't notice him. He picked up the underwear again and handed them to her without looking at her, thinking that he was going to burn in hell for wanting to know what sort of bloomers she was wearing at that very moment, if they were lacy or ruffled or silk or chiffon. He looked away from her and went back to the basket, his ears cherry red. He picked up another garment and almost jumped out of his skin. It was a white brassiere with lace straps and a little pink rose between the cups. He handed her the bra and hoped he didn't pull any more of her unmentionables out of the basket because he would surely pass out if he did. Olivia didn't even notice that he was handling her undergarments. She was just happy for the help and impressed by his willingness to help her when he didn't have to.

"So what kind of things do you paint?" she asked, taking the white dress he was holding out to her.

"Portraits mostly," he answered, pulling out an apron that he guessed belonged to Celestine. "I've done some stained glass windows for churches, and a few murals too."

"There's a man in Baton Rouge who does nude paintings," she replied casually. Fitz's eyebrows shot up. He wondered what she knew about that sort of art. Before he could inquire, she asked, "Have you ever done any of those?"

He immediately imagined himself painting her nude, draping crimson silk sheets over her little body, maybe making her look like Renaissance art. He smiled, imagining himself pitching the idea to Eli. Fitz had never been shot but he guessed he would find out firsthand what bullets felt like if he shared the idea with Olivia's father. He answered, "In art school, we did nude studies. They were mostly charcoal drawings though."

"Were they women?" Olivia was incredibly curious. She felt like Fitz lived in a different world. She wondered if he would paint her nude, if he even thought her woman enough to be painted in such a sensual way.

"A few were," he answered. "But they were mostly men."

Olivia took the shirt from his hands and began hanging it. Fitz wasn't sure if it was the light reflecting off the blindingly white shirt or if her skin was just that luminescent. He pulled his sketchbook from his satchel and began sketching her form. He made quick work of it, not lingering on details. He left it unfinished, mostly because it was impossible to capture how much the sun loved her skin.

XXXXX

After they hung the laundry, Olivia gave him a tour of the house, pointing out the antiques, some of which were so old that they had belonged to the white man who had freed her great-great-great-great grandfather and willed him Magnolia. They climbed the stairs and she stopped hesitantly at a lavender door, inscribed in gold paint with the word Livvie. She opened the door and stepped inside. Fitz steeped in behind her and looked around curiously.

Everything was white: the dresser, the vanity, the rocking chair in the corner, the dress form next to the closed closet door, the four poster bed and its gauzy canopy. Even the hardwood floor had been whitewashed. The only pop of color in the room was the lavender bedspread. An old dollhouse sat in a corner next to a wooden rocking horse. A bookshelf took up the wall next to the bed, all the shelves full. Little figurines sat in front of the books, mostly ballerinas and a few animals. Above the bed, painted in the same gold script as the name on the door was a quote: _Let her sleep, for when she wakes she will move mountains._

Fitz looked at her as she sat in the rocking chair, puzzled by something that hadn't occurred to him until he saw her little girl room. "How old are you?"

"Almost 17," Olivia answered. She looked around the room, suddenly seeing what he saw. "My daddy doesn't think I'll ever grow up."

"So I see," Fitz said, looking around with an amused smirk. He went to the bookshelf and examined the ballerina figurines, all repainted a light shade of brown that he guessed was Eli's doing. "Are you a dancer?"

"Not anymore," she answered, looking over his broad muscular back straining against his gray shirt. She guessed that one deep breath would split the shirt at the seams. "I'm too short and heavy."

She was petite and delicately boned, like a figurine. Fitz wondered where she would get such a grossly incorrect thought, and guessed it was just schoolgirls being cruel. He replied, "You're nothing of the sort. You're absolutely perfect."

"Do you really think so?" she asked in a voice that told him he needed to watch his tone before he revealed just how badly he wanted to take her in his arms and caress her soft flesh. He turned around and found her staring at him from where she sat in the rocking chair, bathed in the afternoon light pouring through the open window.

"I wish you could see how the light loves your skin," he answered. "It's absolutely breath-taking."

"Really?" Olivia was lapping up the attention like a kitten drinking from a saucer of milk.

"Really," Fitz answered as he sat on the wooden chest at the foot of her bed, his sketchbook out. He wished he had brought his colored pencils or pastel crayons to capture the caramel hue of her skin or the way her bright chocolate doe eyes stood out or the luscious pink of her lips.

Celestine appeared in her doorway hours later and broke the spell of their content silence. "Olivia it's time to practice your violin."

"Yes Celestine," Olivia replied, stealing a glance at Fitz as she stood and stretched. The silver-haired woman fixed Fitz with a hard look before walking away. Olivia gave a little yawn.

"Ready for a nap?" he asked in a teasing grin as he stood, his sketchbook under his arm.

"Only if you are," Olivia answered, surprised by the flirtatious tone of her voice. Fitz gave her a wide-eyed smile, also surprised by the young girl flirting with him. For the safety of his well-being and her innocence, he decided they needed to get away from her bed.

"You know, in my experience, sharp tongues usually come with soft bottoms," he retorted, grinning wickedly as he moved toward the door.

"Wouldn't you be delighted to know if that was true?" She threw him a wicked grin of her own as she brushed past him to get out the door. Fitz shook his head as he followed her down the stairs.

XXXXX

Fitz was surprised to find Olivia's mother, Maya, in the smaller drawing room Olivia led him to. The woman rose from her chair, smiling at the handsome artist as she shook his hand. She wore a navy dress not unlike Olivia's, and fixed him with a curious gaze. She studied every man that came around her daughter, knowing that her little girl wasn't so little anymore. Eli wasn't ready to let Olivia grow up but Maya knew Olivia would soon be in need of a husband. Fitz was nice looking, and apparently quite the artist if Eli had thought him talented enough to paint their baby girl.

Maya smirked as she watched Fitz watch Olivia remove her violin from its case. She took note of his moony eyes looking over her daughter as she shuffled her sheet music. Maya reminded Olivia of her posture and the girl straightened her thin shoulders then tucked her violin under her chin. She began to play, her eyes on the sheet music, her fingers moving gracefully.

"She's marvelous, isn't she?" Maya asked, smirking as she watched Fitz practically drool over her daughter as he sat on the piano bench.

"Exquisite," Fitz replied, his saliva thick. Olivia took note of him calling her exquisite for the second time that day. She wanted to wear his compliments like silk robes and have them slip them off to be replaced with more intimate descriptions when they were alone. Fitz watched her play gracefully, thinking there was something almost erotic about the way she stroked the violin's strings with the bow, coaxing sweet sounds from it like she was its lover.

He almost didn't hear Maya invite him to stay for dinner. He agreed eagerly, not ready to part from Olivia just yet. He was curious about every little thing about her. He volunteered to help her set the table. Olivia kept giving him secret smiles as they danced around each other in the dining room. When the table was set, she showed him to the washroom. Fitz was reluctant to step into the small room with her, and even more reluctant to put his hands under the running water with hers. But he did both, breathing in her sweet feminine scent.

He was surprised when she asked, "Are you married?"

"No ma'am," he answered. Olivia turned away from him to smile. He looked down at her as she lathered her hands with soap. He grinned at her. "Are you offering?"

"I'm sure you have much better options than me, Mr. Grant," she replied, smiling coyly.

"I'd be lucky to have even a fraction of you, Ms. Pope." He lathered his hands, his eyes never leaving hers. He only broke their eye contact a moment later when she took his hands in her much smaller ones and began washing them. She interlocked her fingers with his, her hand trembling. In a low soft voice, he requested, "Call me Fitz."

"I don't think I should." Hey eyes were the size of saucers, his intimate tone making her insides feel like jelly.

"Please Olivia," he whispered, looking at her with dark eyes. Hearing her own name from his lips was nearly her undoing.

It was a sweet whisper. "Fitz…"

He wasn't sure what possessed him to do it, but a moment later his lips were on hers, their hands still entangled under the running water. It was a short, sweet kiss that sent a jolt through both of them. Fitz knew it was wrong. Firstly, he was supposed to be on the job, and secondly, Eli Pope would surely kill him dead for fraternizing with his little girl. When he took his lips away, she looked at him with wide, dreamy eyes, a little smile on her pretty mouth. He wanted to kiss her again, but they had been gone a while and he figured Celestine would be around looking for them soon. Instead of capturing her lips again, he turned off the water and used a towel to dry her little hands then his own.

"I should go change for dinner," she said, nervous under his gaze. When she left, he splashed cold water on his face then went to the dining room, surprised to find Eli seated at the head of the table, drinking Scotch.

"Mr. Grant, my wife tells me you're joining us for dinner," he said by way of a greeting.

"Yes sir. I'm much obliged," Fitz replied as he took a seat, hoping his face wasn't red. Eli looked him over but didn't sense anything out of place with him. Olivia appeared a few minutes later, wearing a blue dress with a high neck and a surprisingly low dipping back.

They ate dinner having polite conversation. Fitz even managed to make Celestine laugh. Olivia crossed her legs under the table, her slippered foot brushing against Fitz's leg.

XXXXX

Olivia darted into her father's meeting room, a few steps ahead of Fitz and Eli. She knew they were going to talk about her and she was terribly curious. She heard footsteps in the hall and looked around quickly for a place to hide. She scurried under the table, the black tablecloth hiding her from view. Fitz was the first to enter and sat down at one end of the small square table. His knee came in contact with something solid but soft and he lifted the tablecloth to look under the table. He was surprised to find Olivia smiling at him.

"What are you doing" he asked in an anxious whisper.

She smiled as she shrugged cutely. "Sitting."

"You're—" They both heard Eli's heavy footsteps and Fitz dropped the tablecloth, cloaking Olivia in darkness. She sat on her knees, running her fingernails up and down his legs. He gently kicked her kneecap and she stopped, smiling to herself, willing to bet his ears were bright red.

"Mr. Grant, I really do appreciate you journeying out here every day. I can imagine it's a terrible imposition," Eli said as he joined Fitz at the table.

Fitz smiled. It was quite the journey to make on a daily basis, but he liked being able to see Olivia every day. "It's no trouble."

"Well, Mrs. Pope thinks it terrible of me to have you coming out here every day." Eli laughed. Fitz wanted to laugh too but Olivia's hands were under his pants legs, her fingernails skimming his shins, and he didn't dare open his mouth. "I've been instructed to offer you the carriage house if you'd like it. It's nothing fancy, mind you. But we should be able to fit a nice-sized cot and your art supplies."

Olivia's hands stopped as she waited for Fitz's answer. She wondered what changes him being so close would bring them. In the three weeks he had been painting her, he had kissed her six times, mostly brief exchanges of tongues and chaste touches stolen when they got a few minutes alone. She wanted him to say yes, but she knew she'd never get another night's peaceful rest knowing he was so close, that she could so easily slip out of the house and climb into his bed. Fitz knew he should say no, that being in such close proximity to Olivia wouldn't be anything but trouble. He was already having a hard time behaving himself. He could barely keep his lips and hands off her, even though he knew Eli would kill him if he knew. Fitz just couldn't help it. She was a flame and he was a moth. He finally said, "Thank you. That's very kind. When would you like me to move in?"

"Whenever is convenient for you," Eli answered. Under the table, Olivia was giddy. She was already imagining all the things they could do in the carriage house, all the places she wanted him to touch and wanted to touch on him.

"I suppose I could get my things this…" Olivia's cheek brushed his knee and made him forget where his sentence was going. Her warm breath flitted against the inside of his thigh and he cleared his throat, the toe of his shoe pressing on her little fingers. She moved back and he cleared his throat again. Eli frowned, wondering what was wrong with Fitz. "I'll bring my things this afternoon if that's alright."

"Sounds good," Eli replied. Olivia brushed her lips against the soft, clean-smelling cotton covering his inner thigh and Fitz groaned involuntarily, his whole face red. Eli looked at him quizzically. "Are you alright, Mr. Grant?"

"I think the milk I had this morning was a bit questionable," Fitz lied, the toe of his shoe pressing on her fingertips again. Olivia sat back, moving her hand from within his reach.

"Oh I'm terribly sorry," Eli sympathized. He stood to leave. Fitz stood as well, trying desperately to find some reason to linger in the room. He looked around and his heart leapt at the sight of the portraits lining the wall.

"Did the same person paint all these?" he asked.

Eli didn't remember. He didn't really care. Art didn't interest him. "I believe so. Feel free to inspect them. I have a meeting to get to."

"Thank you sir," Fitz replied, moving away from the table to look more closely at the portraits. Eli left the room and Fitz soon heard his heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs. Fitz went and pushed the door up, not quite closing it to avoid any suspicious appearance. He went and stood in front of the table under which Olivia was still hidden. "Olivia Carolyn Pope you get out here this instant!"

Olivia crawled from underneath the table, smiling innocently. She batted her eyelashes as she smoothed the skirt of her sleeveless yellow dress. The square neck exposed her cinnamon skin invitingly, stopping just above her cleavage. Celestine had twisted her normally loose springy curls into two French braids with yellow ribbons wound into them. Fitz looked forward to mixing colors to create the perfect shade of caramel for her skin, so everyone would be aware of what a marvelous color she was, and how the light seemed to make her golden. She brought her index finger to her lips, biting the tip coyly. "Hi."

"'Hi'?" Fitz scoffed. He looked at her with wide incredulous eyes. "You're incorrigible. Celestine should never let you out of her sight!"

"Are you made at me?" Olivia teased. Fitz fought the smile tugging at his lips. Olivia grinned prettily. "Maybe you should put me over your knee."

For a moment, he genuinely considered the idea but dismissed it quickly. Touching her was already difficult for him even if it was just his hand on her cheek. One hand on her plump backside and he's ended up rutting on her like an animal. He shook the image of her on all fours from his head, his ears burning. "That sharp tongue is going to get you in a world of trouble, Olivia."

She continued biting her index finger, smiling innocently. "I didn't mean any harm."

"Putting your head between my legs while I'm talking to your father is your idea of harmless fun?" what am I going to do with you?" he asked, smiling in spite of himself.

"What do you want to do with me?" she flirted, taking a small step toward him. Fitz swallowed hard, trying desperately to keep his member from stiffening. He needed to get away from her before he dragged her into his lap and put her virtue in very serious jeopardy. He took two large steps toward her, closing the small space between them. He grabbed her waist, swallowing hard before kissing her like he was trying every breath she'd ever taken. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her backside and she tugged gently on his curls.

XXXXX

Fitz finally decided to paint her the way he'd first seen her: sitting on the swing in a white dress. Maya chose a surprisingly modern dress, one she'd seen in New York on a brief visit. It was sleeveless with a boat neckline and the full skirt came down just below Olivia's knees. Olivia's hair was pulled in a high bun at the crown of her head. She was barefoot and sitting in the sun tanned her beautifully. Fitz had never had so much trouble keeping his hands off her.

In the months that passed as he painted her, Fitz and Olivia grew close. He told her all about California and his childhood. She took him on walks around the plantation, showing him where the slaves' quarters used to be, and the manmade lake at the back of the property. She even coaxed him into coming swimming one night, surprising him by slipping off her dress and undergarments before she dove in. Fitz brought her macaroons, her favorite snack, and made a mental note to never bring her anything to eat as he watched her lick the French vanilla crème filling off her fingertips. Olivia had never been so taken with anyone. She wanted to know everything about him: every fear he'd ever had, every dream, every woman he'd ever loved, every mouth he'd ever punched in, every morning he awoke with nothing and no one, every secret he'd ever kept, everything that swelled his heart. She had never seen anything more beautiful than him. She almost blurted out that she loved him the day she'd awoken to find him gone only to have him show up in the middle of the day with a little white kitten in his palm, a little blue ribbon around his neck. Fitz smiled at her fawning over the little fur ball, feeding it sweet milk with a baby bottle. He knew he was in love with her, that it was the best and worst thing ever, but there was nothing to be done.

XXXXX

After he finished her portrait, Fitz found himself looking for reasons to stay around Magnolia. There weren't many but he took every one he could find. He was good with his hands and with Eli gone frequently, the women enjoyed having him around to odd man jobs. He fixed things, rearranged furniture, carried heavy things, but nothing he did was so essential that he should be there every day. One afternoon, he sat in the kitchen shucking corn with Olivia. They were strangely quiet, both of them knowing that his time at Magnolia was coming to an end.

"I have to go soon," he said softly, staring at her.

Olivia nearly dropped her ear of corn. She had known he would have to leave at some point, but she didn't want him to go. She set her suddenly sad eyes on him. "Why?"

"I need work," he answered. He did need work, but he felt like he might need Olivia more. Still, Eli Pope's opinion of artists was no secret and Fitz knew he would never let Olivia marry him. Fitz felt awful, knowing that she had fallen for him just as hard as he'd fallen for her, but that he could never have her. He didn't have stable money, and he wasn't a New Orleans native—he wasn't even a southerner, and Eli wasn't a negotiator. Olivia knew Fitz didn't have the most lucrative occupation, and that her father would never approve, but she didn't want him to leave. The very idea of waking up and knowing that he wasn't in the carriage house, painting watercolor wildflowers at dawn, made her throat dry and her eyes burn.

"When…" She blinked away hot tears, pausing to swallow the lump in her throat. "How much longer will you be here?"

He couldn't look at her, not when her eyes were so glassy and her face was so broken. He reached out to touch her but his hand fell short when she wiped unfallen tears from her eyes. He loved her, more than he'd ever thought he could love a woman. He answered, "Maybe a week."

"You can't go, not when I…" Her voice faded away when she saw the look on his face. He was hurting just as bad as she was, but he'd made up his mind.

"Your father isn't the kind of man who would let his only daughter marry an artist, not to mention me being white and all," he explained. "He thinks you deserve better than me, and you do. You should marry a doctor, or a lawyer, or…someone who can make your dreams come true. I can't do that, Livvie."

"Do you love me?" That was all that mattered to Olivia. The business with her father could have been smoothed out.

"Yes." He swallowed hard. "God, yes."

"Then don't leave me please," she practically begged, tears falling openly now.

"Livvie…" He didn't know what to say, how to fix things, how to make her understand. She cried and held him for dear life in the middle of the kitchen.

XXXXX

Olivia sobbed unabashedly when he left, clinging to Celestine's thin shoulders. Celestine almost wanted the blue-eyed devil to stay, just to un-break her Livvie's heart. Olivia sat on the front porch and watched him walk away, his shoulders hunched like he was carrying the world. His chest hurt and he was sure he'd die before he made it to town.

With Fitz gone, the house fell deathly silent from Olivia's sadness. She wilted like a flower in the summer sun. She didn't practice her violin or sing in the morning. She barely talked. Maya prayed Olivia would get over him. She prayed even harder that the blue-eyed painter would come back. She had seen them together. They breathed in sync. Eli didn't know what to do for his baby girl. He had never seen her brown eyes so dull or her face go so long without a smile. He hoped every day that she recovered from her heartbreak over the loss of the painter, that she realized it was for the best that they weren't together. As far as Eli knew, nothing had happened inappropriate had happened between them, but the man had gotten under Olivia's skin. Now she was hollow or broken and it hurt Eli's soul that he couldn't put her back together.

Olivia slept late and no one mentioned it. She barely ate but no one pressed. She often lay for hours on the cot he'd left behind. She stared at his portrait of her, trying to find some piece of him in it. She wondered if he was thinking of her, if he was hurting the way she was.

Some might say Fitz was worse. He hadn't painted anything good in months. He couldn't smile, not without thinking of Olivia. He hardly slept because he always dreamt of her face. He made decent money in Mississippi, not able to stay in Louisiana, even though his heart was always there. He took up carpentry and small repairs for stable money, but nothing gave him joy anymore—not painting, not fixing, not living. Something had to change.

XXXXX

Fitz sighed. The train was taking forever. He shifted in his seat, wondering how much longer the journey would be. He had been riding for three days so it couldn't have been much longer. At some point he drifted off into a fitful, impatient sleep only to be jerked awake hours later by the train stopping. He peered out the window then gathered his few belongings and got off. He was thankful his easel hadn't been crushed in the baggage car and that all his tools were accounted for. Even laden with all his worldly possessions he found himself running.

When he reached the gates, he dropped everything, sprinting up the walkway. He had woken four days before with more certainty than he'd ever had about anything. He needed to go back where he belonged. He shouted her name, louder than he thought he could shout anything. She was sure she was dreaming, that he couldn't be back. She raced to the window, looked out. There he was, racing toward the front steps. Maya hurried from the garden, not believing her ears or eyes, and Celestine paused preparing breakfast.

She looked up at the sky through the kitchen window and whispered, "Thank you."

Eli emerged from his study just in time to see Olivia racing barefoot down the stairs, her white nightgown flapping behind her. Olivia ran through the open front door, not even noticing Maya and Celestine on the porch. When Fitz saw her, his body caught a second wind and he seemed to fly to her.

"You came back!" she shouted when he snatched her off her feet. She hugged him like he was the only thing rooting her to the ground, praying he wasn't dreaming.

"I couldn't stay away," he replied, holding onto her much the same way she was holding onto him. He was probably hurting her, probably bruising her little waist from his bear hug but she didn't notice. She hoped he never let her go.

On the porch, Maya looked at her husband. "You have to tell him yes when he asks."

Eli looked at Celestine, hoping the old woman was on his side. He wanted his Livvie happy, but he didn't want her to throw her life away on a girlhood crush. Celestine looked away from Olivia and Fitz, who were kissing without awareness of their surroundings, and set her old wise eyes on Eli. "You have to tell him yes, Eli. She's liable to take off with him if you don't."

Fitz wasn't horrible, and certainly there were things Eli could do for him to ensure his little girl's comfort, but she was so young and he was terribly conflicted. Fitz was nearing 30. Olivia had yet to turn 17. To say that he and Olivia were in different places was an understatement. But looking at his baby girl look at the painter, Eli knew there was nothing to be done. He decided to help his future son-in-law set up a little carpenter shop and make sure it stayed afloat so his princess would always be taken care of.

XXXXX

The wedding was as festive and extravagant as Eli could afford. Olivia brought tears to every eye present when she appeared in a white lace gown fit for a royal wedding. In the middle of the aisle she found things moving far too slowly. She stopped, kissed her father's cheek, then sprinted down the aisle into Fitz's open arms. He picked her up, twirling her around in her poufy-skirted dress.

When the preacher asked him if he took her as his wife, he answered so quickly that everyone laughed. Olivia answered just as quickly. She lifted her veil before it was time because she needed to see his eyes and his smile. The preacher pronounced them man and wife, and Fitz stared down at Olivia in disbelief that she was truly his.

"Are you gonna kiss me or not?" she asked when he continued to stare at her. Fitz laughed and pulled her into a kiss. When they pulled away, Fitz leaned his forehead against hers, smiling at her like he'd slept with a hanger in her mouth. She would always be love's great martyr and he would be the flattered fool wondering how he'd been so lucky to get her.

**Don't forget to leave your thoughts and requests! XOXO**


	8. Whenever, Wherever, Whatever

**A/N: So I've had writer's block for a while and this is the only thing I've written since it struck. I'm struggling with my WWII fic and another story that just kind of fell out of my head. It's all slow going. Pray for my creativity to strike. Let me know what you think. XOXO**

Fitz almost faltered in his speech when he looked up and saw her at the back of the room, staring at him. It had been weeks since he'd seen her, weeks since they'd spoken, weeks since he'd held her. He wasn't sure what to make of her presence or the look on her face. She looked like she'd missed him, like she wanted him back. Olivia wasn't sure what to think or how to feel as they stared at each other. Every time his eyes flickered to hers, something broke a little more inside her, making it increasingly harder to breathe. She had been sure she was making headway getting over him, that she could feel herself growing attached to Jake, but looking at Fitz as he looked at her threw everything into a conflicting whirlwind. He finished speaking and his eyes lingered on hers as he left the stage. Olivia's throat burned as he stared at her. She felt herself backing out of the room as her vision blurred with hot tears. She hurried down the hall and slipped into a broom closet whose door was ajar. She pulled the door closed then leaned against an unoccupied corner, sobs erupting from her body.

Olivia wasn't even sure why she was crying. She had left him. She had been the one to hurt them both. She didn't deserve to cry when it was her who had done the damage. Fitz walked out into the hallway and looked for any sign of her. He was a few steps beyond the broom closet when he heard her sobs. He walked back to the closet door and paused, his hand on the knob. She had left him. She had moved on. She didn't want him anymore. He shouldn't have cared, shouldn't have felt love well up in his heart when he saw her. He shouldn't have been concerned with why she was crying in a broom closet. That was Jake's department now. He almost turned and left, but his feet wouldn't move. His hand wouldn't let go of the doorknob. He opened the door and slipped into the closet, locking the door behind him.

Olivia sat on a bucket, her head in her hands, sobbing unabashedly. He frowned. He had never seen his mighty Liv so broken. "Liv…"

She didn't look up at him, just shook her head. She had burned down their world of dreams. She didn't deserve his pity. She had feelings for Jake, however small. She had betrayed him by falling for someone else after promising to wait for him. She whimpered, "Don't… Please."

_Lead me on girl if you must_

_Take my heart and my love_

_Take of me what you need_

He walked over and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her little body. Olivia breathed in his scent. Being close to him never failed to pull her apart. She wondered how she could ever have given him up. Then she remembered that he wasn't hers and fresh tears welled in her eyes. Fitz's lips rested on the crown of her head. He relished holding her, knowing that it could be the last time. Her hands clung to his shoulders and he realized that he had broken her. He had turned his beautiful, strong Livvie into a hollow paper doll version of her former self. He had only meant to love her, but he had been selfish and heavy-handed and pushed too hard. He had ruined her.

"Livvie I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he croaked. His stomach churned with regret. Olivia wondered what he was sorry for, what he thought he had done to her. He went on, "I pushed too hard. I broke you. I'm so sorry."

"Fitz…" Her voice was so little, so devoid of its usual strength that he almost broke down too.

"No, baby, don't," he pleaded, cutting her off. "I won't push anymore. I feel like I'm tearing you apart. I shouldn't have asked so much. I just… I loved you so much. I couldn't help myself."

"I left you," she replied. "I'm so sorry. I'm so awful." She looked up at him. "You said 'loved.' You don't love me anymore?"

"Of course I do!" he implored, his voice cracking. "Nothing in this world will ever make me stop loving you. I love you unceasingly. I need you desperately. I think about you constantly. But you're falling apart, baby. You're wilting, Livvie. So I'm taking a step back." He caressed her face. "It's my turn to wait for you." He took her face in both hands. God, he loved her face. He dreamt of it often, tossing and turning and calling out for her. "You call me and I'll come running. I promise. Whenever you're ready, wherever you are, whatever the circumstances. Call me and I'm there. Okay?"

She couldn't believe it. She had left. _She_ had ruined _him_. But he was there for her like always, her white knight. She stared at him, her heart in her throat. "Okay."

_And if there's a thing that you need_

_I'd give you the breath that I breathe_

_And if ever you yearn for the love in me_

Fitz planted a single chaste kiss on her lips, lingering for a heartbeat, then left the closet in search of the men's room. Tom cleared it of everyone, casting a concerned look over his shoulder at his bleary-eyed boss. He had just shut the door when he heard Fitz wretch and empty his stomach's contents in one of the toilets. It was rare that he felt genuinely bad for anyone but he actually wanted to hug Fitz. Tom hoped he and Olivia made up. If not, the agent wouldn't have been surprised if they both died of broken hearts like animals who'd mated for life.

_Whenever_

_Wherever_

_Whatever_

In her apartment, Olivia stood under her shower head's warm outpouring, letting her tears mingle with the water. He had let her go, given her wings. She was free. It should have felt magical. But it didn't, not even a little. She finally turned the water off and got out of the shower. She dried off and went to sit on her bed, pulling her yellow robe tight around her. She stared at her phone. She scrolled through her contacts and stopped on his number. She pressed the CALL icon and put the phone to her ear. Each ring made the knot in her stomach tremble.

"Hello," he answered on the fourth ring.

"Hey." She tried to sound happy and light, but the weight of her heart pinned her down dismally. She got up and padded to the kitchen, intent on having a glass of wine, or maybe a few bottles, whatever made her feel less like curling up and dying. She opened the freezer, searching for the grapes she always kept chilling to keep her wine cold, and found herself staring at a pint of Fitz's favorite coffee ice cream. She took it out of the freezer, decided she should eat it since he would never again show up at her door unannounced with a grocery bag full of junk food.

On the other end of the line, Jake wondered why Olivia was so quiet. She sounded like she had lost her best friend. He asked, "You okay, Liv? You need something?"

"No," she answered as she took the top off the ice cream. The ice cream was half-eaten because he never finished it. Olivia had lost count of how many half-empty cartons she'd thrown away. She frowned, realizing she would never do it again. She sat on a stool next to her granite-topped island, her even breathing the only sound in the room. She and Fitz spent forever just breathing on the phone. She and Jake chattered constantly.

"Liv?" Jake's voice blurred Fitz's face in her mind. "You're freaking me out."

"Sorry. It's just been a long day." She sighed as she dug her spoon into the ice cream. She took a bite and tasted Fitz's mouth. Tears pricked her eyes but she blinked them away. She'd done enough crying for the day. She said, "I'm having the best ice cream right now."

"What?" Jake wondered if she was drunk, or if she'd finally snapped. She was always so tightly wound that he figured a meltdown was inevitable.

"It's coffee flavored," she replied, taking another bite.

"Oh. I don't like coffe," he said back, unsure of what else to say. Fitz loved coffee, with a splash of milk and lots of sugar. Olivia took her coffee black with two sugars. They could never agree on whose was better.

Olivia tried to think of something to say to him but there were no words. She wanted painful, devastating, life-changing love, to be shaken to her core. Jake was nice, and before Fitz—before she knew what it was to love someone so gloriously, tragically, desperately, miserably that she couldn't think of anything else—he would have been perfect. He skirted the walls of her heart without disturbing them. Fitz had crashed through the barriers like a wrecking ball and hadn't stopped tugging at her heart strings until he'd rubbed her deliciously raw. But she could have Jake. Fitz belonged to someone else. She lived in constant conflict between settling for what was available and risking everything for something that might not be hers in the end. She sighed and said, "Goodbye Jake."

"Oh. Um, bye Liv," he replied, surprised by her abruptness. He hung up, not knowing that it was their last conversation. Olivia knew that even if she didn't end up with Fitz, she'd never end up with Jake. Whomever she ended up with would be someone who made her chest explode with love. She took the ice cream and wine to the couch. She was drinking straight from the bottle, something she never did. She stuffed herself with ice cream, watching _Hell's Kitchen_, Fitz's guilty pleasure show. She couldn't deny that she missed him terribly. The world was entirely too quiet without him around.

_Wish I knew if I could_

_Be the one that you would_

_Love forever and a day baby_

Fitz sat on the floor in the Oval, looking around the office. Nothing mattered anymore. Mellie walked in and saw him then quickly walked back out, telling everyone to leave him alone. She had never seen him looking so broken. She knew there was only one person who could cause him such grief. But she was done trying to mend his broken pieces when she wasn't the one who tore him apart. Fitz didn't even look up at the sound of the door. He just stared at the window, the frame of which he had leaned Olivia against and kissed her wholeheartedly. It all seemed so far away from him now.

Olivia lay in her bed, the blankets pulled up over her head. She couldn't sleep. She had never felt something so strong, absolute grief. She pushed the covers back and rolled onto her back, sighing. She pulled open the drawer on the nightstand and took the phone out, the phone she hadn't used in so many weeks. She dialed the only number saved in it, the number to the phone that matched the one clutched in her fist.

Fitz heard the vibrations of the phone in the secret drawer where he kept pictures of her. He pulled himself to his feet, moving in a haze of half-drunken confusion. He had emptied the Oval's tumbler of Scotch, trying to numb everything. He pulled the phone from the back drawer and stared at it. It was really ringing. She was really calling. He answered and held the phone to his ear, content with just hearing her breathe. Olivia clutched the phone, listening to his jagged breaths like they held the secrets of the universe.

She finally said, "I ate your ice cream."

"It's okay," he replied. Everything was okay if she was talking to him.

"I broke your heart. I left you," she admitted in a small voice. "I ruined you."

"It's okay."

"It's not okay. You shouldn't love me anymore, shouldn't want me, shouldn't forgive me."

"You always forgive me, Livvie." He wondered where the conversation was going. He hoped she wasn't calling to tell him to stop waiting for her. He would promise to stop if that was what she said, but he wouldn't. He would wait for her forever. His last breath would be used to call her name. On the other side, he would find a bench if heaven had any, and he would wait there for her too.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was so soft and earnest. She had never been so sorry for anything.

"It's okay." He would forgive anything she did. He loved her beyond logic and reason, and she loved him just the same if not more.

"Whenever, wherever, whatever, right?" she asked, hoping he'd meant it when he said it.

"Right." He was already on his feet, headed for the door.


	9. A Meeting of the Minds II

**A/N: So this is the much-requested sequel to "A Meeting of the Minds," which is chapter 6 in this collection. I really love these two even if they frustrate me something serious. I don't know if I could maintain my sanity and write a whole story about them. But tell me what you think! XOXO**

Fitz wandered into the clinic, telling himself that he wasn't there to make goo goo eyes at Olivia, something Cyrus had accused him of doing on multiple occasions. She was working the night shift, having drawn the short stick with hour selection. Fitz had originally been heading out for the night but couldn't pass the clinic without seeing her. They had been dancing around each other in front of people, and making out like horny teenagers whenever they were alone. Olivia was attempting to take a step back from him, always breaking their kisses too soon, but he was magnetic and she couldn't stay away. Fitz was determined to keep her coming back. Olivia was much too beautiful and intriguing for him to just let her go. And he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since she showed up.

He walked through the clinic, greeting the bored-looking nurses as they watched soap operas on the empty waiting room's flat screen TV. Olivia sat on the leather padded stool the doctors used in the exam room, reading on her iPad, her half-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Fitz gave an exaggerated cough as he hopped onto the examination table. Olivia looked up at him and smirked then went back to reading. Fitz coughed again, louder than the first time, and Olivia looked up at him again. He smiled at her rolling her eyes. She was too cute.

"Hey! I'm on the table and I'm coughing. You need to examine me, _doctor_!" he teased.

Olivia sighed loudly as she stood, setting her iPad on the counter behind her. She walked to stand between his legs, peering into his beautiful gray eyes. She instructed, "Open your mouth."

Fitz smiled then obliged. Olivia shined a pen light in his mouth then had him close it. She looked in his ears then slipped her stethoscope under his shirt. Fitz gasped at the cold. Olivia chuckled as she moved the cold metal from his chest. He asked, "So what's the diagnosis?"

Olivia smirked at him. "You're a horny pervert who came down here hoping I'd play doctor with you."

"I came here because I was feeling sick. _You're_ the horny pervert thinking about playing doctor," he replied. "But since that's what you want…" Olivia was surprised by his strength when he grabbed her waist and lifted her off her feet, laying her body atop his as he lay back on the table. He wrapped his arms around her, trapping her against him.

"You are _not_ serious!" Olivia giggled in spite of herself as she struggled against him. He was too strong for her to move. She reluctantly spread her legs so she was straddling him and used the table as leverage to sit up.

Fitz smirked. "Dr. Pope this is so inappropriate!"

"Shut up!" Olivia squealed, smiling involuntarily. She looked over the edge of the table to see how far off the ground she was, if she could get down without his help. She decided she couldn't, at least not in her new black Jimmy Choo point-toe pumps. She looked at him sweetly. "Help me get down."

"What do I get if I do?" he asked, grinning wickedly.

"I'm not sure I even want to ask what you want," Olivia replied, trying desperately to ignore how good he smelled, how strong and virile he felt beneath her.

"I'll help you down but you have to ditch this ghost town and come hang out with me." Olivia blinked. She didn't think being alone with him would be a good thing. As she had learned from many a clandestine kiss with him, control slipped away far too easily. But the idea of being alone with him without the pretense of propriety was too exciting to pass up.

"Fine. But no funny business," she finally replied. Fitz's hands encircled her waist and he set her on the floor with ease. She didn't like the mischievous nature of his smile.

"There's nothing funny about what I have in mind," he assured as he hopped off the examination table. They walked out of the office with Olivia acutely aware of Fitz's arm brushing against hers. He told the nurses, "I'm kidnapping Dr. Pope."

They didn't even look away from the TV. Olivia smirked at him. They walked to the elevator and Fitz pressed the button for the 7th floor. Olivia put an appropriate amount of space between them which Fitz immediately invaded before the door shut. Olivia stepped away from him only to have him follow. It wasn't long before her back made contact with the elevator wall and Fitz was standing so close that she could smell his sweet minty breath. Olivia's hands pressed against the wall to keep a grip on anything steady. Fitz growled, "You know, this little hard to get game you're playing is doing nothing except make me want to kiss you absolutely senseless."

Olivia stared at him. She was a skittish deep, mesmerized by the big bad wolf's pearly white teeth and terrifyingly hypnotic eyes. "Dr. Gr—"

His lips cut off her words. He was suddenly flush against her, one hand on her face and the other on her hip. Olivia tipped her head back and opened her mouth to accept his warm tongue. Her hands made their way to his hair, running through his unruly curls. The elevator dinged and they let go reluctantly. Olivia's lips looked bee stung. Olivia's legs felt shaky, like they wouldn't hold her weight as she walked out ahead of him and looked around the dark floor. Fitz's hand took hold of hers in the darkness as he led her to his office.

He held the door open so she could walk in ahead of him then turned on the light. Olivia walked over the wall bearing his numerous accomplishments and looked at all his awards. There didn't seem to be a medical association by whom he hadn't been honored. She stiffened then relaxed at the feeling of his arms wrapping around her.

"I thought we agreed no funny business," she murmured.

"We're not laughing so it must not be funny," he replied, his breath skittering over her neck and raising goose bumps everywhere.

"Dr. Grant—"

"Call me Fitz."

"That would be inappropriate."

He chuckled. "I think we're already crossed that line."

Olivia hesitated. She was already too close to him. And she'd always been adamant about not crapping where she ate. But everything with him came so easily, even if she did want to strangle him a good deal of the time. She finally whispered, "Fitz…"

"Say it again," he commanded. He had never really liked his name until it passed through those perfect pouty lips.

"Fitz," she repeated in spite of herself. She normally never did as she was told when it was demanded that way, but something about the way his voice rumbled in his throat created a river of hot wetness between her legs.

She barely registered his hands sliding up to grab her breasts until he was squeezing them firmly. "Say it again."

"Fitz." It was more or a whimper that time. His hands snaked down her body, setting her body ablaze. He grabbed the silky fabric of her black pencil skirt and pulled it up, exposing her thighs to the cool office air and raising goose bumps on her skin. He ran his fingertips over the silk front of her panties, making circles around her bundle of nerves. Olivia's eyes closed at his gentle touch and she hoped her legs didn't give out. She remembered where they were and stopped his hands from moving. "Fitz…"

"Okay, okay," he relented, sliding her skirt down. She turned around and smiled at him, unintentionally brushing her midsection against the bulge in his black pants.

"Excited?" she teased.

"I don't even have to ask you," he replied confidently, smiling as he brought his fingers to his nose and inhaled her scent. "Sweet," he complimented, making her blush. She watched with interest as he went to retrieve something from the bottom of his floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, then smirked when he turned to reveal a Scrabble box.

"You do _not_ want to play that with me," she declared as she moved to sit in one of the armchairs in front of his desk.

Fitz laughed. "Oh, but I do, Dr. Pope. It'll be fun. Harvard vs. Johns Hopkins. Loser buys dinner."

"Winner gets bragging rights," Olivia replied. "Get a dictionary. You Harvard alums are usually grand bullshitters."

"'Grand bullshitter;' is that what you majored in a your _all girls' school_ in _Georgia_?" Olivia laughed at his exaggerated twang as he retrieved a dictionary from the bookshelf then came to sit opposite her behind his desk.

"Hey! Dissing Spelman is grounds for a fight!" she teased as he set up the board.

"What are you gonna do? Gnaw on my shins?" he replied with a smirk.

Olivia laughed. "You're such a chauvinist."

"It's cute, right?" He smiled and she nearly swooned, instead settling for a smile that looked like someone had stuck a hanger in her mouth.

"Are you always this obnoxious?" she asked.

"No," he replied with a smirk. "I have to sleep."

She beat him the first game, though he insisted he let her win. The second game had to be abandoned because they couldn't agree on whether or not non-English words that had been accepted as American colloquialisms should count. The third game left them tied.

"Okay. Last words. This one's for all the marbles," Fitz declared, confident that his word "zygote" would trump anything Olivia had. He had to admit that she as a delightful change from the women he usually got involved with. She was the feistiest little thing and he would have been lying if he said that it didn't drive him crazy. There were times when he could have taken her head off, but that too excited him, that she could wind him up so easily. He gave her a challenging grin then arranged his tiles.

Olivia watched him with a serene smile. He drove her absolutely insane most of the time during the meetings with Stephen and Harrison, the other members of the diagnostic team, but other times, times when he brought her coffee or affectionately popped the ball of her nose with his index finger, she found her stomach full of sickly sweet butterflies. She loved antagonizing him, and arguing with him. More than that, she loved proving him wrong. She asked, "Are you sure you want to finish with that?"

He nodded. Olivia played her word, "psychopath," and smiled prettily at him, knowing she'd won. Fitz smirked, already amused by cute he imagined she'd be when her gloating started.

"I let you win," he declared with a silly smile.

Olivia scoffed. "The hell you did! Like you'd pass on having bragging rights! You'd sooner lose a testicle."

"Are you particularly interested in my testicles, Liv?" he asked with a devilish grin.

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Why is it every time I start to think better of you, you open your mouth and ruin it?"

"Because your mouth is an absolute delight," he replied with a sarcastic smirk.

"It must be. You keep kissing it," Olivia argued.

"Only because that's the _only_ time you're quiet," he replied. "You honestly might be the loudest, snarkiest woman I've ever met."

"I'm probably the smartest too," she shot back.

"No one cares if you're smart if you're a loud mouth," he replied with a smirked. He wondered if he was pushing her buttons, hoping he was. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than getting her screaming mad at him. She was unbelievably sexy when she was angry.

"I guess you would know that from experience," she argued. "You might be the single most insufferable, arrogant man on the planet."

"And yet, you can't stay away from me." Fitz grinned. She would argue with him until they were blue in the face, call him things he'd have punched a man for uttering, and swear at least once a week that she was going to castrate him, but she always found herself kissing him or letting him kiss her whenever they were alone for more than a minute. She was intimately aware of the inside of his mouth, the ministrations of his tongue, the nimbleness of his fingers. He had intimate knowledge of the taste of her skin, the scent of the valley between her breasts, the exact spots on her neck and collarbone to lick or but to make her a quivering mess in his arms.

Olivia smirked. "Bite me, Fitzgerald."

She knew he hated it when anyone called him by his full name. He smirked at her, knowing she was getting revenge on him for pushing her buttons by pushing his. Olivia returned the game to its spot on the bookshelf. She turned to find him practically standing in her shoes.

"Do you need something, _Fitzgerald_?" she teased.

"Take off your clothes," he commanded with lusty eyes. The rush of heat that waved over her body made it impossible not to do as he said. She slipped off her white lab coat, revealing her sleeveless silk coral blouse. She removed her long thin gold necklace, placing it on the desk behind her, then turned her back to him, showing him the top's gold zipper. Fitz reached out and slid it down, exposing her back to the cool air. She slid the top down her arms and off her body then turned to face him. She unzipped her skirt and it fell off her hips, pooling around her ankles. Her bra was a powdery shade of pink, her panties too. There was a little black bow between the bra's cups and a matching one on the waistband of her thong.

Fitz stared at her body, his eyes looking over her beautiful curves in awe. He was going to kiss her lips until they were bee stung. Every inch of her silky skin would be mapped by his lips and fingertips. He was going to lick her until she scratched him raw and begged him to stop. But he wouldn't. Not until she was delirious with need. Olivia stepped out of the pool of her skirt and best to remove her shoes.

"Don't," Fitz growled, his voice gruff with lust. He was going to take her in all the ways he'd ached to since he laid eyes on her, especially in those unbelievably sexy heels she loved so much and nothing else. He stepped close to her and reached around to unhook her bra, slipping it off her body. He looked down at her full breasts and his eyebrows shot up at the sight of her pierced nipples. Olivia's eyes followed his and she smiled shyly.

"I should have told you about those," she said softly. "A result of my rebellious stage a few years ago."

Fitz chuckled. "I wasn't expecting that. An ass tattoo maybe, but pierced nipples? Wow."

"Do you like them?" she asked almost anxiously. She hadn't been with a man since before she'd gotten them done.

"They're sexy," he answered, bringing his hands up to touch the silver barbells bisecting her nipples. He smiled at her. "I always thought you were pretty straight-laced, but this is pretty kinky."

Olivia smiled. "You should never underestimate me."

She gasped when his lips wrapped around her right nipple, his tongue swirling the sensitive skin and making her whimper. Her whole body trembled when his right hand pushed her thong aside and his fingers slid between her hot lips. He moved to her bundle of nerves and she cried out at the sensation, giving desperate little sobs of surrender. She watched with heavily-lidded eyes as he slid her panties down to her ankles. He lifted her leg and hooked it over his shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent. The sight of dripping center made his mouth water. Olivia thought she might pass out from the sensation of his warmth mouth on her core. She desperately grabbed fistfuls of his hair, moaning loudly and pulling at his hair. She ground her heat against his face, begging for more. Fitz pushed her to the brink of oblivion before he stopped and stood. He turned her around, planting her ands of the desk and pushed into her without warning, eliciting a loud moan from her. He let out a strangled groan, standing still as he enjoyed the sensation of having her wrapped so tightly around him. His hands clasped on her hips and he set a quick pace that made the desk shake. Olivia's moans echoed off the walls as she held onto the desk for dear life. She matched his stroke for stroke and he grunted in appreciation. He took hold of her hair, pulling it gently.

"Oh baby," he groaned when her fingernails dug into his thighs. He hammered her pussy without mercy and it wasn't long before Olivia exploded in a scream of ecstasy and her body slumped on the desk. Everything went black. When she came to, he was worshipping her neck with gentle wet kisses as his seed flowed inside her.

"That was…" Olivia wasn't sure what to call it. She had known when they finally came together it would be nothing short of fireworks, but what she'd just experienced was indescribable. She turned and smirked at him. "Did you call me baby?"

Fitz smirked at her as she snickered like a school girl. "Shut up."

He delivered a firm smack to her glorious ass as he slipped out of her. Olivia stood on unsteady legs, wondering when her heart would settle down. She turned around and leaned against the desk, watching him as he fixed his pants. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket then knelt in front of her. Olivia watched in surprise as he wiped her clean.

"Such a gentleman," she teased, pushing his sweaty curls back from his forehead.

"If I'm doing this for you, you're gonna make me breakfast," he replied, leaning over to kiss the inside of her thigh.

"What makes you think I wanna spend the night with you?" she asked in reply.

"Who doesn't wanna spend the night with me?" he answered. Olivia chuckled as he got to his feet.

XXXXX

Half an hour later, they were in his apartment. Olivia looked around with interest. It was a consummate bachelor pad: leather couches and video games everywhere. Motorcycle magazines were strewn on the coffee table, and a pile of dirty clothes occupied a leather recliner.

"You live like a frat boy," Olivia commented as she looked around.

Fitz smirked. "I live like someone who doesn't have time to clean up to impress unwelcome company."

"Fuck you, Fitzgerald," Olivia replied with a smirk.

"You already did," he shot back as he made his way to the kitchen. Olivia sat on the couch and removed her shoes, watching him as he opened the refrigerator. He called, "Do you drink beer? I know a lot of girls don't."

"I'd prefer wine, but beer works," Olivia answered as she took the remote off the coffee table. She looked at the magazines. "Do you have a motorcycle?"

"Not yet," he replied. "I'm thinking of getting one though." He went back to the refrigerator. "Red or white?"

"Red," she answered as she turned on the TV. She began flipping channels and stopped on _Masterchef_. "So, loser, what are we gonna eat?"

"I was gonna order Chinese but I can scrounge up something home-cooked if you'd like." He grinned teasingly at her and Olivia looked away from him, not wanting him to see how cute she thought he was. He poured their wine in red plastic cups then brought it over to the couch.

"Solo cups? If this is your idea of dishes, I'd hate to see what you come up with for home-cooked food," she teased. Fitz poked her side then pulled her close. He planted a kiss on her forehead.

"You're an asshole," he said, squeezing her bare shoulder. Olivia tilted her head up and kissed his chin.

"You're an asshole too," she replied. Fitz ordered Chinese then pulled Olivia onto his lap.

He kissed the crown of her head. They watched the show for a little while before the doorbell rang.

"Wow. It usually takes the Chinese place in my neighborhood like 45 minutes to deliver," Olivia commented as Fitz set her on the couch.

"I'm a frequent customer, something like a VIP," Fitz explained as he walked to the door. He tipped the delivery guy then shut the door. When he turned around, he found Olivia in the kitchen, searching his cabinets for plates.

She looked at him. "Why do you keep your plates up so high?"

"Why are you so small?" he asked as he put the large brown paper bag on the counter then went into the kitchen to help her. She was surprised when he lifted her off her feet, hoisting her up high enough to grab two paper plates.

"Why don't you have real dishes?" she asked when he set her back on her feet.

"Because men don't buy dishes. That's something girls do," he answered. Olivia rolled her eyes at him as they walked back to the couch. Fitz picked up the remote, intent on changing the channel but Olivia took it from him.

"Gordon's about to announce who's going home," she argued, holding the remote out of his reach.

"My TV, my pick," he implored, smirking at her. "Don't make me take it from you."

Olivia knew she'd never win anything physical against him. She handed over the remote, frowning. "You're an asshole."

Fitz smirked at her as he held the remote. He asked, "How much longer is this gonna take?"

"It's the last five minutes," Olivia replied, her face back to pleasant.

Fitz shook his head. She was so cute. "I hate that little smirk you get when you think you've won."

"I hate that you think you're automatically in charge because you have a penis," Olivia replied without missing a beat.

"I hate your smart mouth."

"I hate your overblown ego."

Fitz's eyes darkened, becoming almost gray as he leaned close to her. "I hate that I want to fuck you senseless every time I see you."

"I hate that I want you to." She leaned forward and bit his bottom lip, pushing him back on the couch with surprising force. Olivia couldn't help but laugh at his shocked face.

"I like you. It's weird." He wrapped his arms around her waist. Olivia lay her head on his shoulder, her nose nuzzling his neck.

"I like you too. It's not that weird." They chuckled. "We work. For whatever reason, we work."

"Yeah we do," he replied.

"You're my baby, my sweet baby."

Olivia looked up at him with a teasing grin. "I'm not so sweet."

"Oh you don't have to tell me," he replied. "You're a pain in the ass, a surprisingly big one for someone so small."

"Fuck you," she teased.

"Oh you will." He sat up, holding her on his lap. "But not now. I'm hungry."

Olivia laughed as she got comfortable.


End file.
